Act My Age
by Bad Dancer
Summary: Arch enemies since childhood, Frankie Hart and Peter Parker have been competing their whole lives. After a field trip gone wrong, Frankie is the only one who knows why Peter suddenly doesn't need his glasses and has abs that would make a model weep. Now semi-unwilling partners in heroics, the two frenemies figure out how to do some good with their unfortunate transformation.
1. Frankie & Peter Hate Each Other

Frankie Hart was aggravated by most things.

Squeaky shoes, the patriarchy and people who brought babies to action movies to only name a few. Her temper was legend at Midtown High. People avoided her when she looked pissed off- which was most of the time, which she blamed her resting face for- and looked on in awe when she publicly chewed out teachers for their stupid lesson plans. And no one would forget the time she made their English teacher cry in seventh grade over a fundamental disagreement over whether Lord of the Flies would have been the same if the island had been populated by girls. She liked to believe she won the argument.

However, what was pissing her off right now was the irritating sound of The Rolling Stones blasting through the kitchen.

"Would you turn that shit off?" Frankie groaned, shoving the last lock of stringy blonde hair into a red hair tie, "It's literally five in the morning."

"And yet you're awake." her older brother Charlie shot back, shoving some pancake into his mouth, "And still in desperate need of a dye job."

The younger girl shrugged, snatching a piece of toast off of the counter and swiping back the home dyed pink tips of her hair off her shoulders. She'd bleached and chopped it a few months ago, staining the bathroom sink a sickly pink color. "I've got a project due today for chemistry. I'm measuring energy output of combusting biodiesel-"

"Yeah, I remember that project," completely ignoring her, Charlie continued chewing, already dressed and brown hair flopping over his eyes in that stupid way he thought made him look cool. He flicked his eyes over to her and looked her up and down, snorting at the sight of her rainbow sweater and threadbare green pants tucked into old brown boots.

"Are you seriously wearing that?", he questioned, speaking through a mouthful of blueberry pancakes, "Is it to distract from all the acne?"

Frankie's face grew hot with anger, mouth twisting open with a ready insult when their father Thomas bumbled his way into the room. His salt and pepper hair was a mess and his work clothes were carefully pressed to the best of his ability.

"Leave your sister alone", he chided, voice half cheery in that way it always was in the mornings to Frankie's annoyance, "She's a growing girl. Just because you didn't have an awkward phase doesn't mean she won't either."

"Dad!" the girl squeaked, hand flying up to her acne covered cheek.

"Francine!" her brother imitated smugly, sauntering towards the fridge to grab some orange juice. He didn't even give her a chance to snap and say her name was Frankie when he continued talking. "Dad, we're almost out of pasta."

"I'll pick some up at the store,'' he responded quickly, clapping his son on the back, "Gotta keep that calorie intake up, am I right?"

"That's what coach said,'' Charlie muttered, gulping down a mouthful of orange juice straight from the bottle, "I've gotta get to practice soon."

"Oh, I'll give you a ride", their dad offered cheerily, walking past Frankie with little attention, "Go ahead and hop in."

"But dad," the girl piped, feeling her shoulders hunch up, "You told me you'd give me a ride to school. I've gotta get there early to set up my project."

Her father's face scrunched up, pushing back his salt and pepper hair and rubbing his temples. "Right! Right, I did say that. Just- uh, just hop in the back seat. I'll take you both."

"She can't," Charlie cut him off, already tossing his backpack over his shoulder, "All my gear is in the back plus my history diorama. No room."

Their father looked guiltily over at Frankie, who felt her fists ball up. "He's already set up in the car."

"But-"

"Just take the subway, Frankie. I'll give you a ride next time."

The girl felt her face tighten into a scowl. In contrast, her voice grew quiet. "But you promised."

"Your brother is captain of the lacrosse team, he has to get to practice," her dad argued back, "How about you go over to the Parker's and ask for a ride. I'm sure they would be happy to help."

Both Frankie and Charlie snorted at the same time, the former sneering over at the two men across the room.

Charlie continued to chuckle, however. He found the whole thing funny. "Did you conveniently forget she and Peter hate each other? Like, one wrong word away from kicking the shit out of each other kind of hate."

Instead of telling Charlie not to use that language- which he most certainly would have done to Frankie- he turned to his daughter with a disappointed look. "Are you still bullying that Parker boy?"

"I'm not bullying him," Frankie argued, crossing her arms, "I'm just… selectively crushing his will to live."

Thomas groaned again, rubbing at the side of his head. "Frankie-"

"You said it's not safe for me to take the subway alone so early", Frankie cut him off, changing the subject, "Especially when I'm carrying a bunch of heavy materials for a science project."

"Well…" he shrugged, looking unsure, "Just this once won't hurt."

Frankie wanted to say that it wasn't just this once. That he'd done this at least four times since the start of the school year. But she didn't say anything. She never did. Instead, she watched her brother and father dash out the door, leaving her standing in the kitchen in her admittedly ugly clothes with no ride and no goodbye.

Just perfect...

She felt her face twist into a scowl, head dropping as she trudged back towards her room to gather her school supplies. The faded blue walls of her room were bare, save for the occasional band poster. Joan Jett and No Doubt peered down at her as she scooped up her backpack and trash bag filled with materials for the project due later that day. A few old broadway posters were barely held up by tape on the walls.

Curled up on her polka dot comforter was Lady Cordelia, Frankie's ageing cat that was currently laying on top of her history textbook. Her black fur stuck in between the old pages. The little creature mewed up at her, paw stretched out as if in greeting. It made the girl's lips quirk up a little, the silence of the apartment a little more bearable.

"Come on, Cordelia" the girl muttered, gently prodding the old cat off of her book, "I've gotta go, sweetie. I promise you can nap on my books later."

The old thing made a small mewing sound, stretching her legs out before slumping back down into a sleeping position with her legs curled up under her. Frankie gave her a gentle scratch on the belly before deciding to leave the poor thing to her nap.

Kicking a few stray books back under her bed, Frankie shuffled her way out of the room and all the way out of the apartment, grabbing a plate of pancakes along the way. Looking over the counter, she realized there was no lunch for her. Whatever. Her stomach felt weird anyway.

Her old converse scuffed against the linoleum floor on her way to the elevator. The old thing was probably about to bust at the seams but it held up okay under her weight. She pressed the lobby button and rode all the way down, past the Parker's floor. She had absolutely no desire to ask them for a ride. So, subway it is.

Once the door opened on the lobby, she stepped out, feet dragging a little under the extra weight of her science materials. Over at the desk was Perry, the only desk manager who actually liked her. His head perked up at the sound of her footsteps, a slow smile spreading over his face.

"Morning, Little Miss Bubblegum," he drawled, low voice smooth and lazy as he once again looked over her poorly dyed blonde and pink hair, "You got anything for me today?"

"You know I do," she smirked, dropping the plate of pancakes in front of him.

He chuckled, pulling the plate closer to himself. "What's the trashbag for?"

"Science project", she responded calmly, adjusting the plastic bag on her shoulder, "Combusting biodiesel to measure energy output."

"Those are too many big words." Perry responded lowly.

Frankie shrugged, already stepping away from the desk. "What can I say? I go to the fanciest public school in Brooklyn. I better get going, though. Project to do and all."

Perry waved her off, tucking into the pancakes she'd given him. "Knock 'em dead, kid."

"Always do!"

Frankie opened up the lobby doors into the brisk, dark morning. As usual, the streets stank of fuel and traces of old piss. Brooklyn was its usual ugly self in the morning. The blonde kept moving along towards the subway stop, only four blocks from the apartment. Very few people milled around the sidewalk as she made her way to the stop, swinging around onto the stairs and descending into the bacteria ridden subway.

She ended up waiting only a few minutes before she climbed onto a mostly empty subway car and made her way towards Midtown High. She'd stuck her earbuds in not long after sitting down and left them in as she made her way off, music far too loud to be perfectly healthy. Not like she particularly cared. Frankie liked the way it drowned out the outside world, drowning her in her own thoughts.

It was still dark outside as she made it up to the sidewalk, the lightest traces of lavender light spilling over the concrete. It was already starting to feel warmer, though. She could feel a little sweat sticking to her sweater. It was far too warm outside to be wearing it, but once she made it inside the school, the frigid air would be too cold not to have one.

Frankie carefully counted her steps. It kept her mind from freaking out over her project. One hundred and twenty six steps to the subway. Six steps towards her seat. Fifty seven taps of her foot against the subway floor. Fifty seven steps to the school.

Midtown High came into view in front of her, the iron gates at the front tall and imposing as she made her way through. The school grounds were effectively empty, no students in the school this early. Maybe a few janitors. She briefly wondered if Erica was working today- she was a nice woman. Single mother, always let Frankie sneak into the library before it opened.

With the music still blaring in her ears, Frankie didn't hear the person on the other side of the corner she was turning. She slammed straight into whoever it was, nearly dropping all her supplies and giving herself a panic attack in the process.

"Jesus, watch where you're-"

The blonde's mouth snapped shut when she realized who she'd run into.

Peter fucking Parker.

His face immediately fell at the sight of her as well, pulling into a scowl. Frankie noted a new batch of acne was popping up over his cheeks up to where his glasses rested on his nose. He only reached up to her nose, several inches shorter than her- a fact that made her feel prouder than she logically knew it should- and he always seemed to be glaring up at her through his mop of brown curls.

"Oh look," he groaned, clearly not pleased to be seeing her, "It's Satan's intern."

"Oh look," she quipped back, familiar with this game they played as she glanced down at his Avengers t-shirt, "It's the human equivalent of food poisoning. What's with the shirt? You like supporting mass murderers?"

"They're not murderers, Frankie," Peter bit back, "If you hadn't noticed, they literally saved the world."

"At the price of- what was it?" she tapped her finger to her chin, as if she didn't already have the answer memorized, "Four hundred and thirty two civilian lives across the board?"

Peter was glaring at her again, glasses slipping down his nose as Frankie decided to change the subject. "What are you doing here so early?"

"I'm setting up for the Chem presentation," he responded begrudgingly, "I'm guessing that's why you're here so early?"

"Oh no," she gushed back, "I'm here for the delight of being in your mere presence. Golden boy Peter Parker graces me with his existence."

Peter shrugged noncommittally. "It's not my fault half the teachers figured out you're a harpy."

"Ah, but the other half loves me", Frankie responded, adjusting the bag of materials on her shoulder, "Good job on all the chewed up gum in my chem book yesterday. Real original. I'm guessing the idea came from your fellow dork."

Peter shrugged, pushing his glasses up his nose with a pleased smile. "Can't prove it was me."

Frankie nodded, pressing her lips together and looking down her nose at the shorter boy. "Just like you can't prove what's in your locker was put there by me."

His eyes widened, back straightening. "What did you put in my locker?"

"Nothing you can prove," she simpered with a sickly sweet smile, "Ready to have your ass kicked in Chem?"

"Impossible," he shot back, arms crossing over his skinny torso, "My project is gonna blow everyone's minds."

The blonde hummed, nodding her head with a cocky smile. "Strong words from the boy who just got knocked down to second in the class."

"I- I did not!" he sputtered back, face tightening up in a surprised frown.

Flashing the boy a sick smile, Frankie shrugged and flipped her short hair back. "Check the school website. Updated last night. Best of luck, dipshit!"

With a perky little jump to rub it in, Frankie skipped around the shorter boy and relished in the fact that within the hour Peter would open his locker to have two air horns rigged inside, ready to blow the second he opened the door.

* * *

So the prank didn't go over as well as Frankie had hoped. At least, that's how the teacher that had been walking by when the air horns went off had felt about it.

Unfortunately for her, the teacher that had been walking by had been Mr. Holden, a man who particularly hated being Frankie's teacher. He didn't need proof to know that she'd been the one to rig up the locker, and he'd been quick to give the girl detention. Now, she was stuck in a mostly empty classroom with only her usual partner in such punishments, MJ. The other girl sat sketching in an old notebook, casually leaning back in her seat.

"What are you in for this time?" Frankie asked calmly, the familiarity of the moment almost static.

MJ's eyes flicked over to the bottle blonde, not stopping her drawing. "Civil disobedience. You?"

"Rigging someone's locker to blast airhorns."

The taller girl snorted, a smirk spreading over her sharp features. Frankie smiled in turn, ducking her head and resting her chin on her folded arms.

"You wanna check out that new documentary this weekend?" the girl asked, a yawn at the back of her throat.

MJ shrugged, lips still turned up as she sketched away. "I'll bring Poptarts."

Frankie's heavy eyes fluttered closed for a moment, feeling the day catch up to her. Besides her unfortunate academic imprisonment, the rest of the day had been somewhat okay. Her chem project had gone on without a hitch, earning her a near perfect score on the assignment. But, of course, Peter had earned a point higher, which had made her blood boil. One stupid lousy point had been the difference between her earning the hightest score in the class.

"Miss Hart."

Fuck.

The bored girl looked up to see Mr. Holden glaring at her with what she thought to be unnecessarily excessive amounts of exaggeration. He'd never liked her. At least not since she stuck several dozen Fuck The Patriarchy stickers on the screen of his computer after he told her that her tank top was distracting. He couldn't prove it was her so he couldn't give her detention, but he could give her as many withering looks as he pleased.

Apparently proof didn't matter to him anymore. Even if, technically, she did do it.

"Yes, Mr. Holden?" she responded in a sickly sweet voice, folding her hands in front of her.

"Will you tell me if you put that airhorn trap in Mr. Parker's locker this morning?" he groaned, seemingly annoyed at himself for bringing it up at all.

She gave an exaggerated shocked face, mouth pulled open in surprise. "Why I'd never do such a thing!"

"Because if you had" he continued begrudgingly, "I'd have to give you another detention. That would be your fifth this year just for bullying Peter."

"I thought I'd already been wrongfully punished for that crime."

"We never had this kind of trouble with your brother-"

"I'm not bullying Peter," she cut Holden off intensly. She'd heard that argument a million times from a million teachers. Aggravated she pulled out a lock of hair from the assortment of barrettes holding back the blonde and bubblegum mess, twisting it around her finger. "I'm fostering a semi-healthy rivalry. It keeps our grades up and libido's down."

Both Mr. Holden and Peter gagged at the comment. The older man looked about ready to slam his head into the desk in front of him. "If I let you go, will you stop referencing your libido?"

Frankie held up her right hand. "Scouts honor."

That effectively shut the teacher up, ending in him waving her out of the room. As soon as he did, Frankie snatched up her backpack and made her way towards the door. More locks of hair fell over her face as she practically skipped out. Just as she was about to step through, her ears perked up at the sound of Mr. Holden's voice.

"We've only got three more years of you, anyway."

The girl felt her mouth twist into a scowl, feet going still beneath her. Clearly the man didn't think she'd heard him, but that didn't stop the sting of his words from hitting Frankie square in the chest.

She couldn't help but think of how anyone else would have been treated differently. Her brother, for one, would never be looked at the way she was. He was lacrosse captain, future valedictorian, science wiz on his way to being hired right out of college by Oscorp. He was Midtown's resident golden boy. Frankie was anything but. No matter how high she was on the honor roll, how close she was on the road to being valedictorian herself, she was a pariah. An intellectual parasite.

Frankie turned slightly to see that MJ had noticed she was still there. Schooling her face into its usual smirk, she shrugged at the other girl to show her that she wasn't bothered before turning back down the hall.

So what if she was a parasite in the eyes of the school. She would be a parasite who ended up valedictorian.

* * *

"How was school, buddy?"

Peter shrugged off his backpack and looked over at his uncle Ben sprawled out on the couch. His work clothes were wrinkled and his tie was loosened around his neck as some Start Trek episode was playing on the TV. Leonard Nimoy was giving some monologue that Peter couldn't quite remember off the top of his head.

"Not bad," he replied easily, dropping down next to Ben on the couch, "My project got the top grade."

Ben smiled over at his nephew, ruffling his hair good naturedly. "Look at that. Too bad I genuinely don't understand how it works."

Peter chuckled, sinking into the couch. "I'll explain it to you later. Where's May?"

"Work," Ben responded with a shrug, "They're having her pull an all nighter at the office. Again."

The boy's face fell a little. He'd been hoping to tell May about how well his project went over. She'd been excited to hear about it this morning. It had been a little annoying at first, but he'd really been excited to mention it to her.

"Well, anything else happen?" his uncle cut off his thoughts, clearly but easily changing the subject. He was good at that. Reading a room.

"Well, Frankie rigged my locker with air horns," the teen offered, his eyes rolling back and plopping his head on the back of the couch.

To his annoyance, Ben started chuckling. He glared over at his uncle, whose slow smile kept spreading over his face. "Wish I had that girl's creativity."

"Creativity?" Peter sputtered incredulously, straightening up, "She's been torturing me since third grade!"

"Yeah, but weren't you friends before that?" his uncle pointed out with his annoyingly knowing look, "You two were something of a dynamic duo."

"We were eight," Peter argued back, "Things- I don't know, things changed."

"What things?"

The boy groaned, throwing his head back again. He scowled at the memory of Frankie back before everything changed. Her choppy brown hair and bright green overalls and bright smile filled with crooked teeth. Then her smile turned into a scowl and she'd started walking away from him at lunch and snapping insults at him. He'd tried for months to figure out what had happened. Then, after what happened to her mom, he stepped back. Now here they were, and he still didn't have a good answer for why it all happened.

Instead of saying that, though, Peter just shrugged his shoulders up and watched Scotty beam Kirk down to another random planet. "Guess she turned into a demon."

* * *

Whack!

Frankie swung at her punching bag once again, the sound of her wrapped knuckles hitting the vinyl filling her bedroom. The Ramones were blasting in her ears, covering up the sounds of her brother's crappy music playing in the kitchen. He'd taken over the living room with his big physics project, leaving Frankie to slump away to her own room having already finished all her homework while he'd been at practice. Their dad was at work, enjoying overtime and any time spent away from home.

Now, she was punching the shit out of this bag, bouncing carefully on the balls of her feet and making sure she didn't step on Cordelia. A therapist had suggested it after her mom died. Something about releasing aggression in a healthy manner. To be honest, Frankie didn't remember much of those brief sessions. They'd been so many years ago. But she still had the punching bag in her closet at all times, ready to be hooked up to her ceiling.

"Hey!"

The sound of her brother's voice startled Frankie, the punch she'd been throwing stopping mid-thrust. She tugged her earbuds out, sweat matting her hair as she pushed it back with her other hand.

"What the hell?" she panted, pulling at her shirt to keep it off of her sticky back.

"Could you please keep it down?" Charlie sighed, glaring at his little sister, "Mr. Kim is going to call the landlord on us again if you keep it up."

The blonde girl's head ducked slightly, fists unclenching at her side. "Yeah. Sorry, I guess."

"No shit," her brother reprimanded, leaning on her door frame lazily.

Frankie noticed he had something dark green smeared under his eyes, half rubbed away. Pointing towards it, the girl wrinkled her nose while pointing it out. "You've got something on your face."

Charlie looked confused for a second before he nodded his head, wiping under his eyes with his wrist. "Grease paint. Keeps the sun out of our eyes during games."

He didn't seem interested in elaborating, instead dropping his hands and looking at the corner of her room, "What the hell is that?"

Frankie followed his gaze, eyes landing on her newest project. It was only half assembled and objectively ugly, but the fact that he'd noticed it made the girl straighten up a bit with excitement. She'd been working on it for weeks with marginal success and no one had asked about it yet.

"It's a micro specific cauterization instrument," she explained, trying and failing to keep the pride out of her voice as she picked up the half built object up off the ground, "You see, it attaches to the wrist. There's gonna be a lever that reaches up to the palm, and when you press it, a laser is able to cauterize-"

"Yeah, cool," Charlie cut her off, rubbing at his head, "Laser toy. Got it."

Frankie's face dropped, her grip on the instrument loosening. Of course he didn't care. "It's not a laser toy. It's a medical instrument."

The taller boy shrugged, his face hardening slightly while already moving to close the door. "Whatever. It's late and I've got practice in the morning. Please just quit it with the punching, okay?"

Feeling her gut twist and ears heat up, Frankie resisted the urge to say something. Anything. Tell her brother he was an asshole, say her invention was interesting. But she never seemed to be able to say anything in this house. Not like she could at school. It all died in her lungs before she could say anything at all. Besides, it wouldn't matter. Charlie had already turned back out into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

"Yeah" the girl said to herself, dropping her invention on her bed. It was stupid anyway. Probably wouldn't have worked.

Her eyes flicked over to her window. A little crack covered in duct tape cut through the city light spilling through the glass. Huffing in a breath, she walked over and opened it up to the night. The sound of Queens erupted the second the window opened up. Right outside of it was a fire escape, though she'd spent little time on it since she was ten. It remained sturdy beneath her feet, only the slightest groan made her wonder if it would collapse. Instead, she set her sights higher. With a small grunt, the blonde stepped onto the old ladder and wrapped her fingers around the bars. Her hands were still wrapped up, scraping against the rough metal. Climbing it was second nature, the way up familiar and easy. It's not like she went that high, just high enough to reach the fire escape outside of the apartment that never got rented out. No one was there to pay any attention to her. It was high up enough to make her feel like she was wrapped up in her own little corner of Queens. Curling up in the corner, Frankie stared out at the neighborhood.

Her mom would have liked the instrument. She would have probably even come up with a clever name for it. She'd been an EMT so she would have understood the purpose of it. It could cauterize severed arteries without having to deal with nerve clamps or shaky hands. It could stop someone from bleeding out.

Frankie tried not to think that maybe it would have stopped her mom from bleeding out, too.


	2. Cordelia

"Cordelia!"

Frankie was on her hands and knees, searching under every piece of furniture in the apartment. She hadn't seen her cat in almost six hours and she was starting to freak out. Her ratty pajamas were bunched up around her knees, the green fabric long faded and threadbare.

"Would you please quiet down?" Charlie groaned, poking his head out of his room with a serious case of bed head, "It's Sunday. Sunday is a day for sleeping."

Frankie pushed herself up to her knees and turned to her brother. "Sorry, yeah, I just-"

"Have you been up all night?" he questioned, finally stepping out of his room.

The simple answer was yes. She'd actually been up for the last twenty eight hours working on her cauterization device. But she wasn't about to admit that. "No- no, I woke up about an hour ago, and now I can't find-"

"Have you eaten?"

She froze for a millisecond, eyes flicking over to her brother. He looked halfway between concerned and annoyed. She kept her face neutral, avoiding his eyes as much as she could. "How the fuck can I eat when I can't find my cat?"

Her brother's mouth twisted up as he rolled his eyes. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Cordelia," she clarified, voice tight and annoyed, "I can't find Cordelia anywhere. I've looked through the whole apartment."

"Maybe she finally decided to jump out the window," the boy grumbled, "Maybe then this place wouldn't reek of cat litter."

A white hot flash of anger shot through Frankie. She didn't even realize she'd snatched up a pillow before she'd thrown it hard at Charlie's head. He ducked, glaring at her with wide eyes. "Hey, what the fuck-"

"Don't talk about Cordelia like that!" she spat, her whole body rigid and ready to snap, "Mom gave me that cat."

The silence that followed made Frankie want to curl in on herself. Charlie just stared at her, his hair stuck up in different directions that only framed his strangely upset face. With a sigh, he ducked his head and nodded.

"Fine," he mumbled as he pushed his hair out of his face, "Maybe she's out in the hall."

The girl's brows pulled together. "Why would she be in the hall?"

"Sometimes she sneaks out the door when we come in," Charlie shrugged, his voice crackling with barely contained yawns, "Usually I just scoop her up and throw her back in before you notice."

"Throw?" she gaped, already reaching for another pillow to chuck at his head, "You threw my fucking cat?"

"Are you gonna look for your stupid cat or not?" he griped before turning back into his room and slamming his door shut, the pillow bouncing off of it and landing limply on the floor.

A strangled groan escaped Frankie's lips before she ran out into the hall, already calling out to her cat. She looked all over their floor, passing by every apartment before realizing that Cordelia wasn't there. She griped at her hair, desperately looking in every corner before she noticed that the door to the stairs was open.

"Oh, shit," she hissed, running straight into the stairwell.

Her bare feet slapped against the cold floor as she descended. "Cordelia? Lady Cordelia? Baby, come on!"

Each door she passed was closed, meaning the cat couldn't have gone onto another floor yet. She checked every one until she came across one cracked open just enough for the old creature to slink through. Not bothering to check which floor it was, Frankie burst through the door and started calling out in hushed tones to make sure she didn't wake anyone up.

"Cordelia?" she whispered just loud enough to be heard, "Sweetie, you around here?"

She kept tiptoeing through the hall, starting to feel cold in only her pajama pants and t-shirt. She carefully eyed every corner, continuing to call out and try to attract her lost cat.

"Cordelia, come on-"

"Excuse me, are you looking for this one?"

Frankie whirled around at the sound of someone talking behind her. She nearly fell off her feet as she came to a stop in front of Ben Parker.

He stood in his doorway, brows quirked up and face concerned. She remembered him from a long time ago, though he looked ever so slightly older. The sides of his eyes still crinkled at the sides, like he was always smiling. His dark hair was rumpled and he was wearing old flannel pajamas. But what caught her eye was the fluffy black cat cradled gently in his arms. Her eyes widened and her arms snapped out as she ran towards the man.

"Cordelia!" she smiled, hands going up to her scruff and gently scratching, "Are you okay, sweetie? Why'd you wander off?"

Mr. Parker smiled down at her, joining her in giving Cordelia a little scratch behind the ear. "Saw this little one walking around looking lost. Figured I'd hold onto her until I could ask around about who she belonged to."

"Oh, this girl doesn't belong to anyone," Frankie cooed, pulling the cat from Mr. Parker's gentle hold and cradling her to her chest, "She's an independent woman. But I do like hanging out with her."

The older man chuckled, relinquishing his hold on Cordelia. His eyes quickly scanned over her. "New hair."

"Few months old," she responded, eyes flicking towards him only for a moment before continuing to inspect her cat, "Got bored."

"Too bad. You looked so much like your mother."

Frankie's fingers paused over Cordelia's dark fur, the mention of her mother making her blood go cold for a moment. Mr. Parker seemed to notice, quickly changing tactics and pointing towards her sleep shirt. "Still a Slytherin, I see."

Frankie's eyes went down to her shirt, the Hogwarts house name emblazoned on the front. There were several tears in the shoulder and a hole towards the bottom, but she'd never been able to throw it away. Holding her cat a little closer as the creature pawed at her face, she sent what she hoped was a nice look up towards Mr. Parker.

"What can I say?" she shrugged, feeling Cordelia's paws press against her cheekbone, "Some stories stand the test of time."

Mr. Parker nodded, a slow smile spreading over his face. "I remember you and Peter dressing up as- what were their names?"

Frankie's head ducked slightly. "Harry and Ginny-"

"Harry and Ginny, yes," he laughed, nodding his head, "You two were adorable. I swore you were going to puke all over our living room on Halloween. I'm surprised it didn't come out neon from all the candy you two inhaled."

As Frankie listened to him reminisce, her stomach twisted up in knots. Having to listen to stories about who she used to be on an empty stomach was not a pleasant venture. She didn't like talking about this. Pretending. She was never one for lies.

"I'm so sorry that I woke you up," she said simply, feet shuffling underneath her.

"Oh, don't worry about it," Mr. Parker shrugged it off easily, "Peter's been up all night building a computer."

The girl nodded, lips pressed together and stringy hair falling over her cheeks. "Still dumpster diving, I see."

"Not much has changed," he responded, face falling slightly, "Not everything, I guess."

Her face nearly fell at that, but she managed to keep it neutral. Resting bitch face was a blessing at the moment. The edges of her lips felt tight as she pressed them hard together. She stretched them into a hard smile, feeling her face tighten around it. The older man seemed to notice. He quirked his brows up and pointed towards his apartment door.

"You know, we're about to have breakfast," he offered gently, "You're free to join us."

Frankie's mouth opened and closed uncomfortably. She buried her fingers in Cordelia's fur. "I- I really shouldn't."

"You sure?" he inquired, his eyes going soft, "We're making chocolate chip pancakes. Those were always your favorite."

"Guess I lost my taste for it."

He held her eyes for a moment, practically looking straight through her. "Somehow I doubt that."

The teen dropped the man's gaze, looking back over to her cat. She gently rubbed the top of her head before stepping towards the elevator. "I- I better be going. Long day of homework and such."

Mr. Parker raised his hand in a limp little wave. "Say hello to your family for me. And the offer for breakfast is still on the table."

She nodded stiffly, turning away as quickly as she could. She could hear Mr. Parker stepping back into his apartment, the sound of the morning news spilling out before he closed the door. Her face fell almost immediately, slipping back into a frown as she cuddled her cat close.

She rode the elevator back up to her floor, her bare feet cold on the linoleum floor as she padded her way back home. Gently, she opened the door and heard the static silence inside. She placed Cordelia on the counter and the little thing sauntered away towards her food bowl. Frankie looked around the quiet apartment, her hands unsure of what to do now that she had no one to talk to.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice cracking a little over the word.

"Shut up!"

Charlie's voice spilled out from his room, tight and annoyed. She could picture him throwing his pillow over his face to block out her voice. No word from her father's room. Frankie's mouth snapped shut, eyes falling on the empty counter. Slowly, she moved towards her room, already thinking of the homework she would bury herself in.


	3. School Bites

"May, I do no need to bring a blazer on the field trip."

Peter was currently standing in the middle of his apartment, his aunt running around from one corner to the next trying to get him prepared for his class's field trip to Columbia University. The sun was barely up but she was running around like someone had snuck Redbull in her coffee. Uncle Ben was just sitting at the counter, calmly watching the whole scene unfold. His dark hair fell back over his head as he smirked at May. She'd been like this all morning, frantically skipping from place to place to get everything ready despite Peter's pleas for her to stop.

"Yes you do!" she called back from inside his room, popping her head out of the door, "You need to look nice and spiffy. Those college administrators catch word that you're half as smart as you really are, they'll be crawling all over you. And you need to look good when they take notice."

"May!" Peter groaned, tilting his head back in exaggeration.

"Let the boy dress himself," Ben shrugged, reaching idly over for his cup of coffee.

"Yes!" Peter sighed in relief, "Thank you."

His uncle eyed him over the rim of his mug, the beginnings of a smile on his face. "If he wants to look like a nerdy vagrant, that's up to him."

The teen shot his uncle a glare, which was only met with a smirk and a coffee mug lifted up in salute.

"Okay!" she relented, hands up in surrender as she made her way over to the kitchen, "At least remember to take your lunch. Can't let my little genius starve."

The teen accepted his bagged lunch with a small smile. "Please stop calling me that."

"Never," she smirked, "Now go knock those fancy university professors dead."

His aunt placed a great big kiss on his forehead and Peter gave the obligatory disgusted sound, though they both knew they kind of enjoyed it. The boy wiped at his forehead, shooting May a sweet look and Ben a wave before making his way towards the door.

"Tell me all about it when you get back!" May called out as he stepped through the door.

"I will!" Peter called back, closing the door behind him and heading towards the elevators.

He only had to wait a few seconds for the doors to open. However, the person on the other side made him think he should probably just take the stairs. Standing in the corner, flipping through what looked like a Columbia informational pamphlet, was Frankie. Today she donned a pair of jeans and a dark blue top that looked like it had been ripped straight from a generic catalogue, though her converse covered in doodles kept her usual strange style. Her muscular shoulders strained against the ugly fabric of her blouse and her fading pink streaks looked limp against the fabric. A notebook was tucked under one arm precariously, pen tucked up behind her ear. She looked like she was trying to look impressive, or what she thought people thought was impressive. Peter felt his shoulders sag, realizing that she'd spotted him before he had a chance to step out of view.

"Are you getting in or not?" she grumbled, turning back to her pamphlet, "Clearly we both have somewhere to be."

"Cheerful as always," he mumbled back, stepping into the elevator begrudgingly.

The two teens lapsed into silence as they went down. Neither had much interest in talking. She must be saving her insults for when they got to Columbia. Some solid quips to make sure he was humiliated in front of people he wanted to work for someday. He could hear her music blasting from her headphones- some older pop rock hit from the 90's, if her usual taste was still intact. She kept her eyes glued to the pamphlet in front of her, seeming to be soaking every detail out of it.

Another detail he picked up on was the fact that she had no lunch in her hands. There was no way she had it in her backpack since neither of them had brought one. No use in it on a field trip. He could hear her stomach grumbling over the faint sound of music spilling from her ears.

Without much thought, Peter tugged out one of the headphones, making Frankie jump.

"Hey, what the hell-"

"It's better for your hearing," he said calmly, not having the energy to participate in one of their usual fights, "Where's your lunch? Mr. Harrington said they won't be providing any."

The taller girl shrugged, though he could see the tips of her ears go pink. "I forgot."

"You don't forget things," the boy pointed out, "Ever. It's one of your more annoying qualities."

"Really?" she quipped back, "I thought my general rage was my more repugnant attribute."

"It's not great," Peter shrugged, pressing on, "Where's your lunch?"

The girl's eyes flicked up to him once, so quick he wouldn't have caught it if he hadn't been looking. "Charlie took the last of the food. All we had left was spinach and a box of Cheerios. Dad hasn't gone grocery shopping and apparently my brother needs to bulk up for the start of the season. I'll buy something when I get there."

"I don't think they sell the souls of the innocent," the boy smirked, "That's what you eat, right?"

"Ha ha," Frankie deadpanned, shooting him a glare, "You're a riot, Parker."

Peter looked over at the taller girl, her body figure a little painful to look at. She was all sharp edges. But he could hear her stomach grumbling, something she clearly hoped he couldn't hear. He couldn't help the twinge in his chest at the sound. She was kind of a bitch, but he'd noticed she didn't eat much throughout the day lately. When she did, it was something very plain and unappetizing that had been shoved into a paper bag like no one cared if the food survived.

"Do you want half my sandwich?"

Frankie's eyes flicked over to him, body stiff and eyes distrustful. She looked him over for a moment before opening her mouth. "No."

Peter waited for her to continue, for some comment that somehow insulted both his intellect and his manhood. But nothing came. He glanced over at her to see that Frankie was messing with her shirt, still staring at the paper in front of her. She looked deeply uncomfortable in the clothes she was wearing, like they were too tight in the wrong places.

"What? No witty comeback?" Peter inquired, bringing his eyes forward and watching the floor numbers tick down, "I expected more from you."

"Contrary to popular belief," she sighed, pushing the pamphlet closer to her face, "I have more important things to focus on than crushing your spirit. It's just a hobby."

The elevator finally came to a stop with a sharp ding and the doors slid open. At the sound, Frankie's eyes snapped up and she stuffed the paper in her back pocket. She scampered out of the elevator and Peter followed suit, lunch clutched in his fist and glasses sliding down his nose. They both made their way out of the lobby into the street, turning towards the subway stop.

"Quit following me, dweeb." Frankie spat over her shoulder, trying to walk faster than him, "I swear I don't have anything to torture you with."

"Why don't I believe you?" Peter grumbled, glaring at the bag.

"Because I don't want you sticking a moldy tuna sandwich in my bag again while I'm trying to make a good impression," she snapped back, shooting him a sharp look, "Don't think I forgot the last time you did that."

"It was equal retaliation for you dunking my lab notes in Dr. Pepper."

The girl snorted, seemingly fond of the memory. "Your whole notebook got sticky. It was lovely- hey buddy!"

The taller girl suddenly took a sharp turn, pushing her way towards Delmar's bodega. Peter, thrown off by her suddenly high pitched voice, wondered if she was going inside when she ducked down and started petting Mr. Delmar's cat, Murph. She cooed at the little furball, scratching behind its ears familiarly. The fat cat rubbed up against her hand as well, seemingly used to this routine.

"Hey, cutie," she purred at the cat, "How are you today? Sorry I don't have any treats-"

"Get to school already!"

Both teens jumped at the sound of Mr. Delmar's booming voice coming from behind the glass doors to his shop. Peter straightened up almost immediately, not wanting to upset the shop owner- even though he hadn't done anything. Frankie, on the other hand, didn't seem to have that concern.

"I'm going, old man," she shot back with a smirk, giving the cat a good nudge behind the ears before standing up, "You get to work pushing those sandwiches."

"I'll have one for you after school," he said gruffly, opening the door for his cat to saunter through, "You too, Mr. Parker. Now get to school."

"Thank you, Mr. Delmar," Peter piped up, giving the older man a wave and a smile that was quickly returned. Frankie gave the man a quick salute, heels popping off the ground before turning towards the subway stop. Peter quickly followed suit.

The rest of the walk was quick, silent. Frankie had ducked back into her pamphlet and Peter paid her little attention. The train was full enough for them to have several people between them as they sat down, giving Peter some relief. Soon enough they made it to their stop, school only a block away. Frankie had fallen silent, both earbuds planted firmly in her ears as she tried to block out the world.

All the better for Peter. He welcomed the quiet as they made their way towards the bus parked at the front of the school. Several dozen students already milled around, all dressed in varying levels of business casual. He pushed his glasses a little further up his nose as he and Frankie semi-willingly walked up together.

"Hey, Penis Parker!"

Peter felt his shoulders sag at the sound of Flash's nasal voice. The boy in question was a few feet away from them, dressed in clothes that cost the same as a months rent standing far too close to an uncomfortable looking girl Peter recognized from history class. She'd just transferred into Midtown. Frankie's face was twisted up in a freckled scowl at the sight of the boy. If there was one thing the two of them agreed on, it was that they both hated Flash Thompson.

"Jesus, Flash" she spat, nose crinkling in annoyance, "Is it physically impossible for you to leave a girl alone? Or will you just spontaneously combust if you're not a total douchebag to every freshman you meet?"

"What can I say, the ladies love me," the darker haired boy winked at Frankie, smile spreading wider over his face. However, the girl managed to duck out of Flash's line of sight while he was distracted. She quickly waved at Frankie, the barest traces of a thank you on her lips as she strode away. "Not like anyone's crawling over themselves to get with you, Foxy Boxer."

The taller girl pulled the earbuds out of her ears, her sharp face squinting over at Flash. "For the millionth time, it's kickboxing. Not foxy boxing, ass-hat."

"Right", he responded smugly, "You kick and punch giant bags because a doctor said you're a psycho."

"You're so right," she simpered back, eyes squinting angrily, "Want me to demonstrate how well it works?"

Flash stepped back, trying and failing to cover up his nervousness. "Fucking freak. No wonder you only hang around poor trash like Parker."

Peter felt his face burn, shoulders hunching up in embarrassment. Apparently the girl next to him didn't feel the same way. The tips of her ears went red as she glared menacingly down at Flash.

"You shut your goddamn mouth," she spat down at the shorter boy, "You don't get to talk shit, you spoiled human fleabag. Only I get to talk shit about Parker, so if you don't want your two thousand dollar watch shoved so far up your-"

"Mr. Thompson," an adult voice called out, "If you could get on the bus and stop harassing our female students, that would be wonderful."

Out of the crowd of students came Mr. Harrington, his usual dopey yet disappointed look plastered on his face. His glasses were pushed up the bridge of his nose as he made his way over to the three teens, eyeing Flash with his usual annoyance.

"I was just talking, Mr. Harrington," Flash tried to smooth over, leaning back on his heels, "It's not my fault that these two losers can't take a joke."

"Just get on the bus, Flash" the teacher groaned, pointing towards the crowd of students who were already shuffling onto the aforementioned bus.

"What about psycho over here?" Flash griped back, pointing angrily over at Frankie, "She was the one threatening me. She threatened my body."

"A real shame," Harrington shrugged, clearly unimpressed with the teen's plight, "Now please load onto the bus and review your decathlon material. We don't want a repeat of last week's practice."

Peter could swear he saw Flash's whole face go pink. He could barely contain the laughter bubbling up in his chest. He may not like her, but even he had to admit that Frankie Hart was not someone you wanted to mess with. As Flash stomped away towards the bus, Mr. Harrington turned towards the other two teens.

"If it isn't Peter The Great and Hart The Horror," he said half-cheerily, still trying to get the poor nicknames to stick, "Are you two coming to practice after the trip."

"Yeah," Peter responded quickly, "Of course I am."

Frankie, on the other hand, shrugged. "What else would I be doing?"

"Fair point," Mr. Harrington conceded easily, pointing towards the bus, "Seriously though, get on. We're leaving in a few minutes. We can't leave a student behind again. The parent's threatened to sue."

Peter watched as the teacher slumped away, seemingly only half aware of what students were doing around him. His eyes flicked over to the taller girl, who was about to shove her earbuds back into her ears. The boy, however, felt his stomach turn at the fact that he had to say something to her. God, he hated that.

"Thanks, by the way," he managed to spit out, trying to sound gentle and friendly.

Frankie looked down at him, her brows drawn together. "What?"

Peter felt the words on his tongue, but they tasted bitter. "For standing up to Flash for me. You didn't need to-"

"Don't thank me," she cut him off immediately, eyes rolling hard, "He's a half-rate rich boy asshole. No one should give a shit what he says."

"Still," he continued begrudgingly, "It was nice."

Frankie's face twisted up, looking like she'd just sucked on a lemon. "Gross. I'm never doing that again."

Jaw tightening in aggravation, Peter nodded with a glare at the girl. "Of course. I would expect nothing less from you."

"Good," she sighed, putting one earbud in, "And don't think this means you can- I don't know, swap friendship bracelets with me or something. Just because I hate Flash doesn't mean I like you."

"Just because you have one human impulse doesn't mean I like you either," Peter shot back immediately.

That seemed to be funny to Frankie, who was turning towards the doors of the bus with a grin on her face. "Whatever. The other half of the dork patrol is here for you, anyway."

Without another word, Frankie stomped away, passing Ned on the way. Peter's friend sent her a small glare as she passed, the only interaction the two ever seemed to share. Peter doubted they'd ever spoken, but Ned had declared all the way back in elementary school that he had to hate her on principle.

"Hey man," the dark haired boy greeted cheerily, "Are you getting on the bus or not?"

"Yeah, dude" Peter replied immediately, following behind his friend and onto the bus with a scowl on his face.

* * *

The tour was giving Frankie anxiety sweats.

First of all, the head of Engineering's T.A. was giving the tour. Given that Engineering was Frankie's desired major, that was enough to make the teen want to gag from nerves. But add on top of that the fact that one of the professors greeted them halfway through nearly brought her over the edge. But she kept it together. At least on the outside.

These people could potentially be deciding factors in whether she got accepted to Columbia. Well, it wasn't her first choice. MIT held that spot. But it's not like she was able to jet off and attend a tour whenever she wanted. And Columbia was in state. So that was something.

She'd made it through lunch without puking. That was a good start. Maybe it helped that she didn't have a lunch to eat in the first place. She briefly wondered if she should've taken Peter up on his offer, but quickly pushed that thought away.

Now they were all touring the genetic engineering wing. Flash was livestreaming for his 'Flash Mob' as if he didn't have a care in the world. Which he probably didn't. Rich people didn't need to qualify for school, they could just pay their way in.

"...and over here you'll see our assortment of arachnid subjects." the guide said calmly, as if being around genetically engineered spiders was mundane.

Quickly, Frankie raised her hand to get the guide's attention. "Is their venom being studied for medicinal purposes?"

The tour guide's eyes fell on Frankie for a moment, looking her up and down with a barely held back look of boredom. "That's not really what we do here."

One look at her and she could already tell she didn't like Frankie. Her stomach twisted and face flushed a hot pink, hand falling back down to her side. Quietly, she shrunk back into the group.

Normally, Frankie would have been paying attention. She would have been taking aggressive amount of notes and hanging on every word, but she was already embarrassed and something had caught her eye.

Peter was missing.

She shouldn't care. She didn't, really. She hadn't been paying attention since lunch. But having someone- specifically a rival- disappear is a little more than disconcerting. And no one else seemed to notice or care. Looking around, he was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey", she whispered to MJ, who was standing next to her, "Have you seen Parker?"

The taller girl shrugged, keeping her eyes on the tour guide. "Why?"

"Well, what if he's talking to some professor?" Frankie hissed, keeping her voice quiet, "And he's schmoozing them and getting a letter of recommendation to MIT or something? I deserve the same chance."

MJ's eyes flicked over to the girl beside her, brow quirked up, "Sounding a bit paranoid there."

Frankie scoffed, crossing her arms. "I'm not paranoid. I'm observant."

"Could you guys please quiet down?" Ned asked, clearly trying to sound intimidating but ending up sounding just as polite as usual, "I really wanna hear this."

"Sure, whatever," Frankie shrugged, not really bothering to argue. It was always slightly harder to argue with Ned. He may not like her, but she didn't have anything against the boy. She may be an asshole, but she wasn't a dick.

Letting her eyes wander, Frankie felt her fingers twitch nervously against her arm. The tour guide continued to speak, droning on about arachnid abilities and their genetic properties. The girl couldn't care less and took in the room around her. Everything felt bigger in this building. There was more space to breathe, more things to learn. Nothing like Midtown, where everything was cramped and sweaty and loud. It made her brain feel like it was swelling up against her skull. A few more years and she'd be somewhere like this. If she could convince anyone she was worth the time.

As her eyes wandered, they fell on the boy she'd been looking for in the first place. Peter was tucked away in a corner, his phone out to take photos of the spiders they'd been observing. Frankie's lips pressed together, glancing at the overly perky tour guide before slipping away from the group. Who cared? This wasn't her major anyway.

Thirteen steps.

She silently made her way over to Peter, who hadn't seemed to notice her yet. She stepped up behind him, careful to make sure her footfalls didn't make any sounds as she ducked her head precariously over his shoulder.

"Here's Johnny!"

The acne covered boy nearly jumped out of his skin, phone nearly tumbling out of his grip as he swerved around to see Frankie barely containing her laughter. His face twisted up, shoulders hunching in annoyance.

"What the hell, Frankie?" he sputtered, trying to keep his voice down.

"What?" she responded easily, laughter still pricking her voice, "It was a golden opportunity."

The boy ran his hands through his hair, glancing over at the group to make sure they weren't caught. He leaned back slightly, as if that would keep him from being seen. Frankie just stepped behind one of the display cases, keeping her smile firm on her face. She noticed one of the cages was opened.

"Why were you following me?" Peter questioned tiredly.

The girls brows pulled together, fading pink hair falling over her face. She really didn't have a good reason beyond messing with Peter. But she couldn't say that to him, instead shrugging and sticking her chin up. "Got bored with this leg of the tour. Not really a fan of the whole genetically manipulating animals thing."

At least that was true. Peter seemed to buy it, slowly shoving his phone back into his pocket. "Yeah, not my area of interest either."

"So what are we gonna do?" she asked pointedly, straightening her shoulders.

Peter scoffed slightly, eyeing the taller girl with aggravation. "We're not doing anything. You're going back to the group."

"Like hell I am."

Peter's head ducked down, his hands dropping and phone thumping against his leg. "Can't you just leave me alone?"

"To do what?" she inquired nosily, looking him over, "Take pictures of spiders? I hardly think that qualifies as fun."

His face scrunched up in annoyance, his glasses slipping down his nose. "It's for the school paper."

"Jesus, it's like you popped out of an Archie comic," Frankie chuckled, sending him a sickly sweet smile, "Wanna head down to the soda fountain and play jacks later?"

"Stop making John Mulaney quotes sound evil," he grumbled, trying to step around her, "That's a crime against humanity."

"Then give me some goddamn entertainment," she griped back, hands thrown up in aggravation as she blocked his path, "Call it a temporary ceasefire. I don't care. Just… I don't know, gimme something to work with."

"Jesus, it's like you were made in a lab to make my life miserable!"

Peter's mouth ran fast, groans and insults spilling out at lightning speed. Frankie could feel her entire face heat up again, but this time with anger. Why the hell did he think he could talk to her like that? It made her chest swell up, the feeling of his eyes boring into her angrily. Her own face twisted into a sick sort of smirk. This was what she knew, what she understood how to navigate.

However, something caught her eye mid-rant and interrupted her temporary levity. Something dark and strange looking was crawling down Peter's arm, over his sleeve like it was reaching for his skin. Her eyes zeroed in on it, unsure of what to make of it. "Dude, there's something-"

Peter completely ignored her, glaring up at the taller girl. "Could you please just leave me-"

"I'm not kidding, there's something on your-"

Suddenly, Peter was yelping in pain, hand shooting up to his chest. His entire face twisted up as he cradled his hand. Frankie reached out, hands unsure and awkward as she pulled his hand towards her and slapped the thing away. He cried out again, apparently having hit him too hard on the bite.

"Sorry, I-"

"What are you doing?" he groaned, face turning white with pain.

"I- I think that was a spider or something," Frankie tried to explain, gaze falling down to the bite, "Fuck, that looks ugly."

It was ugly. The bite was white and pink, half swollen with a tiny trail of blood. It definitely shouldn't look like that so fast. Frankie had never really seen a spider bite before, but that didn't look normal.

"No shit, it hurts," he replied, voice tight and aggravated as he ripped his hand from her grip.

"Maybe we should get you to Mr. Harrington and-"

"No," he cut her off, taking several steps back, "I don't… let's just finish the tour."

The blonde fixed him with a look, pointing towards the strange looking bite with worry. "That sounds like a very dumb idea."

"What do you care?" Peter spat back, turning his back and looking over his shoulder at her, almost like he was only half certain about ignoring her. "Just- just get back to the group, okay?"

Frankie's mouth pressed into a firm line. She wanted to tell him to not be such an idiot and get it checked out. That he didn't know what had bit him, that he could get really sick if he didn't do something. But the words stuck in her chest. He wouldn't listen to her anyway. The shorter boy walked away, still cradling his hand to his chest and she fought the urge to go tell Harrington. But she wouldn't. If he wanted to deal with it, whatever. It was his business. That didn't mean it didn't leave a sour taste in her mouth.

The rest of the tour was short. One last lap around the labs and the class was out in the courtyard waiting for the bus. Frankie, however, was waiting for her dad to pull up to the curb. She sat there, knees curled up to her stomach and phone in one hand. MJ had already started walking home, leaving the other girl with a rumbling stomach and a long stretch of silence. The back of her neck itched bad, keeping her mind and hands occupied as she scratched at it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Peter stumbling towards the curb. She straightened her back, suddenly concerned. He was sweaty and looked like he was about to fall over.

"Hey!" she called out, "Parker!"

He didn't seem to hear her, too busy trying to keep himself upright as he made his way to his Aunt May's beat up car. Or maybe he was ignoring her. That would be… understandable.

Before she could think too much about it, a familiar car pulled up in front of her. She stood and peered in, but instead of her father sitting at the wheel, it was a very annoyed looking Charlie. He was still in his workout clothes, clearly just coming from practice.

"What are you doing here?" she grumbled, face falling down into a scowl.

Charlie glared over at her. "Dad's busy. Get in."

"Are we going home?" she asked, still standing with her arms crossed on the curb.

"Where else, moron?" he griped with a shit eating grin, "Unless you want milkshakes."

Frankie's eyes flicked down to the concrete, her old shoes scruffed up and covered in old ink. She looked back at her brother, face carefully bored. She wouldn't tell him how empty her stomach was or how hard her heart beat at the idea of going out to get something. "Only if it's chocolate."

Without another word, she got into the car and buckled herself in. Still, something nagged at the back of her brain. She looked through the windshield at the Parker's old car where Peter's head rested against the window. A smear of sweat spread across the glass as they drove past, and Frankie couldn't help but feel a twinge of worry. Old habits die hard.

The itch was getting worse along the back of her neck. She scratched hard at it, feeling bits of skin scrape underneath her fingernails. She could feel it turning red and hot under her fingertips.

"The hell is wrong with you?" Charlie scoffed, reaching over and slapping her hand away from her neck.

Frankie slapped right back, hitting her brother hard on the hand. "An itch, dumbass."

"You look like you're clawing your spine out," he pointed out with an eye roll, keeping his gaze on the road.

The younger girl kept scratching, feeling like something was just under her skin. She reached back behind her with both hands and started to scratch harder. She could feel areas where he's pulled off some skin stinging under her nails.

"Jesus, what the hell are you-"

"OW!"

A sharp pain went up and down Frankie's neck, bright and intense. Her face twisted up and her whole body ducked down under the sting of it. She grabbed hold of her neck hard, thinking maybe if she applied pressure the pain would go down.

The car swerved at her cry, her brother thrown off and eyes wide. He quickly corrected himself, jerkily turning into a parking lot so quick that Frankie briefly thought he would crash. The car threw itself into a stop, almost throwing the two occupants through the windshield when Charlie turned towards her with wild eyes.

"What the fuck was that?" he asked her incredulously, hands tight on the steering wheel.

"I- ow- I don't-"

Frankie's words sent shooting pains up her neck, like talking was making it worse. Underneath her palm, she could feel something writhing. Carefully, she moved her fingers and grabbed hold of whatever was stuck to her. With a tug and a pinprick of pain, she pulled whatever it was off of her and held it in front of her face.

"Oh God," her brother moaned, throwing his head back against his seat in annoyance, "A spider? That's what's got you freaking out?"

The stringy blonde shot her brother a harsh glare. "It really freaking hurt, Charlie."

"Whatever," he spat back, "Just toss it out the window. We're going home."

Frankie's mouth opened, a retort at the ready when it snapped shut in pain. The edges of her jaw felt like they were about to pop out. Drowsily, she looked over at the spider caught between her fingers. It didn't look special. Its legs writhed angrily and its little body wiggled like it was trying to escape. No special markings, no discoloration. Just a plain black spider. Maybe a few flecks of red. Absolutely nothing special, as far as she could tell. She shouldn't be worried about poison, but the pain in her neck begged to differ. Part of her wanted to go to the hospital, but they didn't have the insurance for that. Besides, she was probably overreacting.

With one last glance at the thing, she crushed it between her fingers and threw it out the open window beside her.


	4. Are You Sick or Something?

Peter leaned against the window of May's car, his head swimming. He had no clue why he felt like this, why he could feel his intestines churning like a broken mixer. Sweat smeared against the window he pressed himself against. He could feel May looking over at him curiously, hands carefully on the wheel.

"Are you sure you're okay, buddy?" she asked kindly, coming to a stop in front of a red light.

Sluggishly, he turned his head to look over at May. She glanced over at him worriedly, though still keeping her eyes on the road in an attempt to seem nonchalant. Her hair was pulled back and glasses were perched on her nose. In fact, his own glasses were giving Peter a headache. Slowly, he removed them and put them on the dash before rubbing at his face.

"Yeah," he responded with a heavy smile, "Just tired, I guess."

A little smile creeped up on her face as the light turned green. "Well, how about we stop for a slushie?"

"I don't know," Peter grumbled, sinking deeper into the seat and wrapping his arms around his middle, "I'm not feeling good."

"Does my little genius have an upset tummy?" May simpered, giving Peter a big fake smile.

"Very funny, May," he chuckled tiredly.

"One cherry slushie," she compromised, waving her hand towards a gas station nearby, "We'll split it."

A little smile formed on his own face. Peter never could say no to his aunt. "Sounds good, May."

The older woman gave a little cheer before turning into the lot beside them. The old convenience store looked dirty and barely managed, but that pretty much guaranteed good, syrupy slushies. Peter leaned back even further, pressing his hands to his face to try and block out the harsh light outside. Apparently, May didn't get the memo to let him lay down because she was tapping on his shoulder.

"You know," she pointed out gently, "If you're still feeling this bad, you can stay home tomorrow."

"I don't think that'll be a problem, May," he countered, only to be met with her serious look. The one she shot him when he stayed up until four in the morning doing homework. His shoulders sagged under that look. "Fine. If I still feel bad, I'll stay home."

A proud smile split over May's face. She turned towards the windshield, hands reaching for her seatbelt when she seemed to notice something.

"Look who I spotted."

Running his hands down his face, Peter followed where his aunt's finger was pointing and saw an old, beat up car that looked incredibly familiar. However, on closer inspection, he realized he knew the occupants. Through a cracked window he could see Frankie and her older brother Charlie yelling at each other. Or Charlie was yelling at Frankie. She just looked pissed. May was peering in too, lips pressed together.

"I'm not a fan of her attitude lately," she said decisively, unbuckling her seatbelt.

"If by lately you mean the last seven years?" Peter pointed out, rubbing at the back of his head where another ache was forming.

"You could say that," May shrugged, turning her head towards her nephew with a frown, "But don't tell your uncle. He's still got a soft spot for her."

The teen met her gaze with a little smile. "What's your take?"

"What?" she asked haughtily, a hint of a terrible british accent in her voice, "Because you know I'm always right?"

"Exactly."

May chuckled, pushing a chunk of stray hair out of her face before shrugging her shoulders and continuing to watch the siblings argue. Charlie had stomped his way out of the car and into the convenience store, leaving Frankie alone in the car with a pissed off expression.

"I don't like the way she treats you," May continued, "I don't understand it. Her father's a real sweetheart when I see him at Ben's office."

If Peter had any clues as to what had changed in his old friend, he would have said something. But there wasn't much of an explanation. He just kept watching as Charlie came back, a milkshake in his hands as he made his way back to the car. Seeing Frankie scratching pretty hard at her neck, he hit his fist against her window and said something pretty angrily. in his Although, her brother seems like a real ass too."

"Yeah, he's a dick," Peter confirmed casually, "Teachers love him, though."

"It was understandable for a while. After what happened to their mom…"

The teen looked down, not really sure how to answer that. "Guess it just hit them hard."

Peter remained still, watching the siblings snap at each other. But he noticed that it wasn't the same as when she fought with him. Her eyes were down, her fingers tapped against her neck almost in a nervous tick. She didn't look like herself, tucked into the passenger seat as Charlie pulled out of the parking lot.

For a brief moment, Peter thought she saw him through her window. He wasn't sure. But her face went soft for a millisecond.

Unwilling to think about it more, if for nothing else than to give his throbbing head a break. He looked over at May and said, "So, slushies?"

* * *

Frankie wondered if she's ever had a headache this bad.

"Come on, Blondie," Charlie grumbled, begrudgingly helping her through the apartment towards her room, "Dad'll be home soon. And don't you dare vomit on my shoes."

"Fuck off…" she mumbled, the words slurring at the edges, "And let me go."

"Fine."

Without another thought, Charlie dropped his arms from around her torso. With the support suddenly gone, Frankie nearly fell to her knees. She quickly caught herself, head swirling as she did. She picked up her eyes and shot a glare at her brother.

"Assole," she spat, picking up her fist to try and punch at his chest. But her muscles felt too tight to move correctly. Like a marionette with too short strings. Her head throbbed harshly, so harshly she wondered if her veins were popping out. That definitely wasn't a good sign.

Charlie's eyes squinted over at her, his body going a little stiff. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," Frankie insisted again, turning towards her bedroom door, "Just- just tired."

"Have you eaten today?"

"Jesus!" she spat back over her shoulder, holding herself up as best she could on the doorframe, "I had a fucking breakfast sandwich this morning. Cheese, eggs, the whole nine yards."

"Just this morning?" he accused, taking a step back from her and moving his gaze towards the wall beside him, "The doctor said-"

"Spare me the lecture," Frankie cut him off, pushing her door open, "I'm going to bed."

Slamming the door behind her, Frankie wasted no time in throwing herself onto her bed. Her right leg lay limp off the edge of it, jaw popping as soon as her head hit the mattress. A pained grunt pushed its way out of her lips, unable to shift around to a more comfortable position. Her back felt so stiff that if she moved an inch it would snap in half. She could feel sweat sticking to her face and neck as she vaguely looked around for anything to distract her.

She could hear the patter of Cordelia's paws before the fat little thing jumped up onto her stomach. Frankie gave a little grunt, feeling the ache in her gut as the old cat paw at her abdomen before plopping down.

"Not now, baby," she groaned, rubbing absentmindedly at the cat's ears, "Mama's not feeling so hot."

As usual, the cat didn't understand. Though Frankie would place bets on the idea that she just didn't care. Cordelia just nuzzled deeper into her stomach silently. Breathing deeply to try and stave off the headache, Frankie reached back and ran her fingers over the bite on her neck. It felt swollen, hot to touch.

Distantly, she could hear the front door open, a few mumbled greetings and the dropping of her father's backpack on the kitchen counter. Familiar, boring. She didn't have to pay attention. At least, not until the pattern broke.

She turned her head in surprise at the sound of her own door opening. Her father stood in the doorway with that tired smile he always had plastered on his face as he looked down at her on the bed.

"Hey, kiddo," he greeted quietly, stepping a few paces closer, "Charlie said you weren't feeling great."

It wasn't a question. Slowly, Frankie nodded. She quickly pushed herself up to a sitting position, holding in a groan as she did from the ache in her neck. "Yeah- uh, it's nothing."

Her father's brows lifted almost hopefully. "You sure?"

"Yeah," Frankie reiterated, her attempt at a reassuring smile coming out tight, "Just a headache. It's- I'm fine."

Her father shrugged, his eyes running over his daughters room almost curiously. Frankie wondered if he'd actually come in at any point in the last few months. Years. "That's great, Frankie. Yeah, because we really couldn't have you miss school tomorrow."

The pink-haired girl pushed her lips even further back in a strange contortion that she realistically didn't look anything like a smile. But her father wasn't really looking. He just smiled serenely and nodded at her. "Well, you get some rest. You'll feel better in the morning."

Frankie nodded again, giving the older man a thumbs up. "Will do."

He gave her one last grin before turning on his heel and walking out of the room. Immediately, the girl's face dropped and she curled back onto the bed. Her head felt worse, somehow. She put her hands up against her ears as she heard her brother and father shuffling around in the living room just outside her own. Their footsteps felt like they were just beside her, stomping and banging against the edges of her skull.

"Dad," she heard Charlie mutter, the words somehow sounding sticky and unsure, "Maybe we should call the doctor again."

Frankie felt her eyes squeeze shut, holding back a groan deep in her chest. That was always Charlie's go-to. Hospitals, doctors. She'd rather throw herself off the fire escape than go back to the hospital with those idiot doctors and creepily perky nurses who looked at her like she was a broken doll.

"She said she's fine," her father insisted, the sound of plates clinking against the counter covering his words, "And I believe her."

Charlie scoffed. She could picture the way his nostrils flared and how he always pushed back his hair when he was arguing with their father. "She said she was fine last time-"

"And she was."

"She was hospitalized."

"For a day," her dad cut him off, a bite in his voice. The sound of it made Frankie press her hands against her ears a little harder. But she couldn't seem to block out the sound. It was like static, playing in the back of her brain. It was actually starting to hurt, like a needle behind her eyes. "Look, I saw her eat last night. Vegetables, meat, all the dietary necessities."

"Dad, she's anorexic, not a houseplant."

There it was.

The bottle blonde pushed her head into her pillow, trying in vain to block out her brother's voice. Her stomach twisted and her fingers felt cold. Her whole body felt cold, actually, but that was new. She groaned into the fluffy purple fabric, letting the pillow suffocate the sound. Charlie brought this up everytime, like it was true. Like it meant anything.

"You're right," the low sound of her father sighing broke through her fingers and fabric, "You're absolutely right. How about you take her some food, watch her eat it. Make yourself feel better. If she gets worse, we'll talk about hospitalization."

"Okay," her brother sighed, his voice going quiet, "Okay, fine."

The sounds in the kitchen dimmed slightly, like neither one of the occupants were moving. Frankie couldn't understand why she could hear it so clearly, so painfully. She'd never had a headache like this. The sound of Cordelia licking her fur, the sound of her brother's heavy footsteps, her father shifting around silverware were all crushingly loud.

"I just don't understand why she does this to us."

She wanted to hit him. Or hit herself. Or lie here until her body ate itself and decomposed on her ratty polka dot comforter.

So she stayed like that. Her ugly blue blouse stretching against her muscled shoulders and sagging around her bony stomach. She felt disproportionate. Unbalanced. Like she couldn't quite fit in her bed. Carefully, she pushed herself up, back popping in a million different places and walked over to her closet. Her feet dragged underneath her, heavy in her ratty chucks. The floor creaked beneath her as she pulled open the closet doors. Sluggishly, she dragged her eyes over the piles of clothes carefully folded and sorted. She reached towards her tidy pile of night clothes and snatched up an old sweatshirt. It didn't take long to switch clothes, but of course she was interrupted the moment she managed to tug the giant shirt down.

Light spilled into her room as Frankie turned her head to see Charlie standing in the doorway, a pissy look on his face and a bowl in his hand. He looked her over, rolling his eyes so far she wondered if they would fall out.

"Would it kill you to put on some pants?" he groaned.

Frankie's eyes flicked down, noting that the sweatshirt she'd picked only went down to her hips. She moved her eyes back up to her brother with a bored expression. "Not my problem."

"Whatever," Charlie grumbled, bumping the door shut with his hip. He dragged his feet over to her bedside, where he dropped the bowl down. The younger girl followed him, too tired to argue with him more than she had to. She peered into the bowl, nose wrinkling at the sight of rice and green goo peeking back at her.

"What the fuck is that?" she gagged, pointing towards what she assumed had to be food.

"Dinner," the older boy shrugged, "Avocado and rice. High in calories, fills up the stomach."

"That looks like vomit," Frankie bitched, knowing how annoying she must sound. She didn't give a crap.

"Eat it," her brother bitched back.

The blonde's face twisted up, eyes cutting through her brother as she defiantly grabbed hold of the bowl of food. A deep ache pounded in her chest as she shakily took hold of the spoon stuck inside the gooey mess and shoved some in her mouth as quickly as she could. As soon as the paste hit her tongue, Frankie face screwed up. The goo coated her mouth uncomfortably and she couldn't stop herself from spitting it back into the bowl.

"Oh, come on!" Charlie groaned as Frankie kept spitting.

She looked up at him, dropping the bowl back onto the nightstand and picking a grain of rice out of her teeth with numb fingers. "Not my fault you can't cook for shit."

"None of us can cook for shit," he shot back, "Mom was the one who did all this...crap."

"Yeah, too bad she got her brains knocked out."

Frankie didn't know why she said that. Honestly, she didn't know why she said a lot of things. But her head was pounding and her body felt like it had been submerged in ice water. Charlie's jaw had snapped shut, eyes going hard in that way they always did when they talked about her mom. Her body shivered and her eyes wandered over the room, falling on an old photo of her mom crudely taped up above her desk. Her brother's eyes followed.

Dark hair. Sharp features. Thin lips. In the grand scheme of things, she didn't look like anything special. But her old EMT uniform made the blue of her eyes pop out of the picture, and her smile was bigger than anything anyone else in their family could produce.

Most of her pictures had been taken down a month after she'd died. Their dad thought that would help them cope, stop them from thinking about her crushed under debris. But both siblings knew he kept them all under his bed in a box. Frankie had stolen this one a few years back.

She could feel Charlie looking at her. Not with sympathy. She didn't know if he was capable of that with her.

She heard him sigh, rub his head. "At least let me get you some sweatpants. You look like you've stepped into a fridge at Costco."

He stomped his way over to her closet, pushing Frankie towards her bed while he did. She landed with a thump on the soft comforter, her head splitting open again. A flash of white danced behind her eyes as she rubbed hard at her temples. Her brother peered into her closet, scoffing at the piles along the ground.

"Jesus," he chuckled, kicking at her pile of band shirts, "Do you color code them, too?"

The younger girl tightened her fist in aggravation, feeling her knuckles crack under the pressure. "Don't mess up my system."

She watched her brother lean down and messily snatch up a pair of purple sweatpants from the top of her pants pile. "You could just use a dresser."

"I like my piles."

He looked a little deeper into the corner of her closet. Suddenly, he was laughing. Slowly, with a deep ache in her back, Frankie pushed herself up and glared at him.

"What?" she grumbled, her vision starting to blur slightly. Her room looked like a blob of blurred white walls and half-seen punk posters.

Instead of answering, Charlie heaved out a box with an almost sadistic smirk. Frankie felt her eyes widen when she saw which box he'd pulled. "Charlie, I swear to god-"

"Frankie's Memory Box!" he chuckled, reading the large, carefully scripted sharpie label. The black tub was barely held together with duct tape, having been busted open on one side years ago. "What've you got in here?"

"Nothing," Frankie spat, wanting nothing more than to punch him in the face if it didn't feel like her whole body was swelling, "Don't you dare open that."

He ignored her. Fucking asshole.

The first thing he pulled were her old tap shoes. They made Frankie want to hide under her covers. The old things were splitting apart and had crude pink drawings of flowers all over the back heel.

"Aw, how cute," Charlie drawled, dropping the shoes back in, "Little Twinkle Toes Francine. Didn't you want to be a dancer?"

The blonde pulled her covers over her head. "Chorus girl, dumbass."

"Yeah," he smirked, still riffling through, "Man, I forgot what a fucking dweeb you used to be. Chicago, Cabaret… what the fuck kind of show is called Kinky Boots?"

"Would you please drop it?" Frankie groaned, swiping a strand of candy pink hair out of her eyes.

Rolling his eyes and dropping the box on the ground crudely, Charlie kicked it back towards the closet. "Don't think I won't keep looking through that. But, no offence, you look like shit."

Instead of responding, Frankie stuck her hand out from under the covers and flipped him off.

She listened to him walk away, his footsteps like hammers to her skull. It all felt too loud, too heavy. She didn't know why she pulled the comforter back, or why she opened her mouth. But she did. Just as Charlie opened the door, she opened her mouth.

"I'm not anorexic, Charlie."

He stopped moving for a moment, eyes falling back on his sister. His face lost the smirk he'd been holding, going slack.

"Frankie, I'm the one who found you last time," he said coldly, his shoulders tightening, "I'm not doing that again. Eat."

Without another word, he shut the door behind him, sending another spike of pain through Frankie's head that lasted until she fell into what she would later consider the worst night of sleep she'd ever had.

* * *

**A/N: Hey, sorry about that weird glitch earlier. My school's internet is spotty lately and I've been in classes all day so I didn't notice that it didn't post right.**


	5. Passed Out In Public School

If yesterday was bad, today was hellish.

Frankie swore she could taste her insides. Her whole mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton that had been soaked in puss all night. Her tongue was numb, lolling around in the back of her throat. It took almost twenty more steps than usual to get to the subway and her whole body was swollen. Even in her hoodie and debate blazer, she felt like she was standing in a freezer, not curled up on a bacteria coated seat on a sweaty and smelly subway car.

No one had been awake when she got up, practically crawling across the floor to get out of the apartment. She may have left a trail of cold sweat in her wake. It was still dark out so no one really bothered her. Perry had sent her an odd look when she'd almost tripped over her own feet, but she hadn't really had the energy to answer any well meaning questions.

Now she was on the subway, shivering and aching all over. It felt like she was getting a lobotomy each time the car shook. But she'd told her father she'd go to school. And what would she be doing, anyway? Laying in bed and bingeing Parks and Rec? No, she didn't have time for that. So here she was, sweating her ass off and wiping it up with the ends of her old black hoodie. Her eyes zeroed in on an old piece of graffiti on the back of the chair in front of her, a cartoon alien she'd put up a few months prior. The paint was chipping, and she could have sworn that the color wasn't that bright.

This car must have been a piece of shit, because Frankie could hear every screw and panel rattle. It dug at her brain, the noise clawing at her head and taking up too much space. The girl pressed her clammy hands to her forehead, pressing hard as if that would do anything to relieve the pain.

"You okay, kid?"

Frankie jumped, feeling like someone had just yelled those words into her ear. But when she turned her head, no one was next to her. Instead, a man in a cheap business suit several seats down was peering at her nervously. She was so dizzy that it looked like there were three of him.

"Uh… yeah," she mumbled, her lips numb and and words slurring, "Under the weather, I guess."

The man kept looking at her, leaning back in his seat like he was worried she'd jump up and attack him. She knew what she must look like. Swollen face, sweat stains, heavy breathing. She looked like a junkie, or someone about to shoot up the subway. Still, her mouth twisted up in a sneer, which only made the man stand up and move to the back of the car. Not having the energy to care, Frankie just sat back and curled back in on herself to wait for her stop.

It took a million years but it finally came. The doors slid open for her, but her legs felt like they were falling off. She held tight to the hard plastic chairs to keep herself balanced on the way out.

Each step hurt. Her ankles popped, the heels of her feet burning under her weight. She almost tripped over her feet several times, but somehow the candy-haired girl managed to make it to school. Luckily for her, it was mostly empty. An early morning Decathlon meeting was taking place, and apparently Flash was yelling his ass off since Frankie could hear him several halls down. Pushing her way through the front doors, she almost ran straight into none other than MJ.

The other girl squaked in surprise, batting at Frankie like a spooked animal. "Woah there, don't knock me over."

"Sorry…" Frankie mumbled, feeling like her mouth was stuffed with cotton. She pushed strands of sweat hair off of her forehead and peered over at her friend. Her nose wrinkled, her senses being hit by a heavy dose of MJ's deodorant. She must have dunked herself in it this morning. "Has- uh, has practice started yet?"

"It's about to," MJ responded, eyes raking over the other girl carefully, "Are you okay, dude? You look drenched."

Frankie looked down at herself, seeing that she's sweat through not only her old Jaws t-shirt, but her hoodie and her blazer. Her pits were damp and she stank of sweat and subway smell. Her head throbbed as she heard Liz yelling down the hall, trying to call the meeting to order. Frankie rolled her eyes at the sound of the senior girl's desperation to get everyone under control. Flash's nasal voice was particularly grating.

"Jesus," the candy haired girl muttered, rubbing at her head, "Could Liz just get a grip?"

MJ's brows furrowed, head cocking to the side. "Uh, what?"

Frankie pointed towards the door beside them. "Liz. She's practically screaming at Flash. Which, I mean, I guess is warranted. But still."

Her friends eyes flicked back and forth, seemingly unsure of why Frankie was pointing at the room. Her mouth opened, keeping her gaze on her friend. "Uh, dude, the meeting's down in the gym."

"What?" the blonde responded, feeling the word slur in her mouth, "Uh… oh. Okay."

"Dude, are you sure you're okay?" MJ asked, placing a hand on her shoulder, "You look like you've stepped off the set of the Walking Dead."

If she could physically roll her eyes at the moment, Frankie would.

"Let's call it an anti-hangover," Frankie shrugged, not in the mood to explain that this wasn't anything she couldn't handle, "I'm miserable with none of the fun stuff to jutstify it… uh, we should probably go to practice."

The taller girl nodded, nodding her head to the side towards the practice room. "I'll lead the way, Blondie."

The girls made their way over to the gym- MJ was kind enough not to comment on how heavily Frankie's feet were dragging- and pushed their way inside to find most of the team lounging around and Liz trying to calmly get everyone to start while Mr. Harrington organized his notes. The senior girl's decathlon notes were clutched tightly in her fist, crinkling and giving away just how frustrated she was under her serene face. Frankie ducked her head, trying to keep herself under the radar of her teammates and into her seat to give her legs a rest.

"Hey, Foxy Boxer!"

Ah, shit.

The girl's face twisted up as she looked over at Flash. The boy was lounging in his chair, legs up on the table in front of him as he smirked over at the two girls who'd just entered. "You look like shit."

"Thanks for noticing," she tried to bite back, but the edges of her words were going soft.

"Hart," Mr. Harrington called out nicely, waving a bundle of notes in his hand, "Glad you made it. We've got the latest topics for you to study for the next meeting."

"Actually," Liz cut in, stepping forward with her crumpled up notes in hand. Her footsteps felt like hammers against the younger girl's temple. "I've got this sort of tag team idea I wanted to run by you. And since Peter's not here today-"

"What?" Frankie cut her off, feeling her knees tighten uncomfortably the more she remained standing.

Liz's face fell apologetically. "Yeah, sorry. I thought since you and Peter are kind of our top scorers, you could work together in this next round. I know you guys don't like each other, but-"

"Yeah, yeah…." the younger girl waved off, leaning a little further into her friend at her side, "That's a good idea."

The senior peered down at the other girl, seeming to just notice how haggard the pink haired girl looked. "Are you okay, Frankie? You can take the day off if you want."

"No…" she quickly waved Liz off, pushing off of MJ and making her way towards her chair, "I'm fine. Let's just… start, I guess."

"Are you-"

"Yes," Frankie glared up at Liz, "Let's start."

The older girl shrugged, giving Frankie one last concerned look before ushering everyone else in the room to their spots. The blonde ducked her head slightly, squeezing her eyes shut against the harsh glare of the sun through the gym windows. It cut through her eyelids and made her head pound. Her breathing was labored, rattling in her chest while she tried and failed to pay attention to what Liz and Mr. Harrington were trying to explain. A few bells were rung in an attempt to say something funny. Their words and sounds swam through her head, dipping in and out of any coherent words to the point that she wanted to just give up and fall asleep right on the spot.

"Frankie?"

Her head popped up, though she regretted the sudden movement the moment she opened her eyes to find the whole room spinning. Liz was looking over at her, having apparently asked her a question. When Frankie didn't respond, she took a breath and asked again.

"The Napster copyright dilemma differs from that of earlier technologies because…"

Because the internet is more difficult to regulate. The answer was easy, almost insultingly so. The girl opened her tight jaw to respond.

"B...ecuz…."

Her hand flew to her mouth, feeling around her lips. The words felt garbled, slurred, unable to push their way out. Everyone in the room turned their head, half looking concerned and the other half glaring at Flash for laughing. Frankie might have even been glaring too if her heart wasn't trying to pound its way out of her chest. She tried again, desperate to get the word out but her tongue was numb, limp and cold in her mouth. She felt someone's hand press against her shoulder. She looked up to see Mr. Harrington looking down at her, deeply concerned. MJ was beside her, hand gripping onto her stiff wrist.

"Kid, you don't look so good," the teacher said gently, taking in the panicked look of his student, "Michelle, could you take Miss Hart to the nurse."

"Yeah," MJ muttered, already pulling Frankie to her feet with a soft hand on her shoulder.

She could tell Flash was saying something crude and sarcastic, but all the sounds he made sounded like a glob of nasal noises. It was painful, and her limbs weren't working correctly. It was like they'd all fallen asleep the moment she'd tried to stand up. Her skin prickled painfully as MJ tried to drag her forward. She attempted to open her mouth again, but as she did, black spots started dancing across her line of sight. She didn't even have enough time to make a sound before she hit the floor.

A few people cried out. Several pairs of hands were on her, trying to flip her onto her back. The movement did nothing more than cause her muscles to cry out in pain. But Frankie didn't respond, instead letting her eyes roll back in her head and let the dark soothe her headache and pull her under.

* * *

_She couldn't see. Something was coating her left eye, and everything tasted like ash. There was a ring in her ears that pierced her brain and sawed through her skull. Slowly, the child peeled her head off of the concrete beneath her to see the world had ended._

_People were screaming, feet barely missing the child on the ground as they ran for their lives. Creatures and heroes flew overhead, indistinguishable from each other. No one looked down at her, but she could see familiar faces in the crowd. Jack, mom's partner, was dragging some woman towards the ambulance. Frankie peered up at them with blurry eyes, just making out the rubble that was sticking out of the woman's chest and dripping with blood. The eight year old could feel her breath fall out of her lungs at the sight. She couldn't pull her eyes away as the woman was dropped into the arms of another EMT, their uniform smeared with sticky blood and silvery dust from the broken concrete. _

_Jack turned around as soon as his arms were free, his dirty face desperately searching the crowds. _

"_Heather!" he yelled out, his blonde hair falling in his face and blue eyes watery as they darted around, "Francine!"_

_Frankie opened up her mouth, the taste of concrete between her teeth as she was about to call out to the man. However, another voice cut her off. _

"_Jack!"_

_The little girl sluggishly turned her head to see her mother rushing over from a large crowd of people fleeing the street. She pushed her way through, dark hair falling out of her ponytail and EMT jacket thrown haphazardly over her blouse. Frankie watched as she ran towards Jack. _

"_Mommy…" the girl croaked, throat scratchy and coated in ash. _

"_Where's Frankie?" she could hear her mother demand, her low voice carrying over the screams of the crowd as she gripped onto her partner's shoulders, "Have you- where's my daughter!?"_

_Breathing hard, the child steeled herself for the pain of crying out. "MOMMY!"_

_Whipping her head around, the dark haired woman caught sight of her daughter keeled over on the sidewalk about to get trampled. Her mouth opened up in a yell that was swallowed by the chaos as she ran towards Frankie. The eight year old raised her hands up in an attempt to grab hold of her mother. Heather fell to her knees and pulled the girl into her arms. _

"_Oh, Frankie!" she yelled, swiping the blood off of her daughters eye, "Frankie- baby, are you okay?"_

"_M-mommy," she stammered, tears pouring down her face, "What's happening?"_

"_It's okay, baby," the older woman soothed, "Mommy's gonna bring you back to the ambulance and you're- you're gonna stay there for a while. Okay?"_

"_Mommy-"_

"_Please, Frankie," her mother begged, blue eyes widening down at her child, "Please just follow me. Follow me and do what I say."_

"_What about-" she sputtered, eyes darting around the crowd, "What about everyone else? We can't fit them in the ambulance."_

_A strange smile spread over her mother's face, like it almost hurt. Her watery eyes bore into Franki in a terrifying way as she grabbed hold of her daughters face with shaking hands. _

"_My brave girl," she blubbered, gathering Frankie up in her arms and pulling her to her feet, "First we need to get you safe, okay? Let mommy save the others."_

_Without waiting for a response, Heather dragged her daughter through the terrified crowd. They all stood so tall above Frankie, she worried they may crush her underfoot. She watched as the ambulance came into view, not able to resist as her mother picked her up and thrust her into Jacks arms. _

"_Keep her in there," her mom demanded, her eyes boring into Jack's, "I've got twelve civilians with major injuries."_

"_Yeah," Jack nodded, grasping onto the child, "I got her, Heather."_

"_Good…" the woman seemed to be able to breathe for a moment before turning back to the hoards of injured civilians. She turned her head towards Frankie one more time before the child watched her disappear into the crowd._

_Unceremoniously, she was thrown into the back of the ambulance by Jack with shouted apologies before he continued to try and bandage a teenage boy's head. The little child clamored back to the front, eyes peering up at the terrifying swarms of aliens and light above her._

_In the corner of the sky, however, was a flash of red and gold. Frankie felt her chest full with a sort of warmth and face break out into a large smile. _

_Pushing herself out of the ambulance, the blonde child scrambled out of the back of the ambulance and onto her knees in the street. She grunted, feeling her skin peel away from her knees and rubble dig into her flesh. But she didn't care. Frankie pushed herself up onto her feet, eyes on the sky and following the scarlet trail of the one who could save everyone. _

"_MR. STARK!" she screamed into the wind, waving her arms over her head in a childish attempt to get the superhero's attention. _

_Someone did notice, though. Her mother, hands covered in a patient's blood, started to run towards her daughter with a terrified look in her big blue eyes. _

"_Frankie?!" she cried out, dodging people running for help, "Frankie, what are you-"_

"_MR. STARK!" she continued to scream, on the tips of her toes and thrashing her arms around wildly, "HELP US! DOWN HERE!"_

_Suddenly, a hand clamped down on her arm hard. Frankie squeaked as she was roughly pulled around to face her terrified looking mother. Her dark hair- so much like her brothers, had it not been for the ash matting into her locks- framed her face, stuck between terror and anger. _

"_Francine," she yelled, gripping her daughters arms tight, "I told you-"_

"_Mommy, it's Tony Stark!" she yelled back hopefully, "I thought if-"_

""_No," Heather croaked, coughing up through the dust in the air, "Don't think. Just- just stay where I can-"_

"_Look!"_

_Frankie felt a smile spread over her face, so wide her jaw might crack. Above them, trailing scarlet in his wake was Iron Man. She gripped onto her mothers jacket as they both stared up at the superhero chasing down an alien cruiser. Racing out of his palms were beautiful beams of light as he took them down. _

_Then, something happened. _

_Frankie couldn't tell when her face fell or when she realized something had changed. But she watched as Tony Stark continued to shoot at the cruiser, light streaming from his suit. What he didn't seem to notice that the child saw was the cruiser making a sharp turn. But he didn't stop shooting. _

_The child stood frozen, her mouth open in a silent scream as she saw the building above them take the hit from Stark's laser, crumbling and melting like something out of a horror movie. In boulder sized chunks, the building began to fall towards them. _

"_FRANKIE!"_

_The child couldn't turn, couldn't look back. She couldn't look away from the metal and concrete coming towards her so fast that she wondered if she'd feel it when they crushed her. _

_But she didn't. Instead, she felt her mother's bruising grip on her arms as she ripped her backwards. _

_Suddenly, Frankie was flying through the air. Her blonde hair fell over her bloody face as she tumbled roughly to the ground. She didn't know if she was in pain, only that one second her mother was there and the next she was alone. She listed her head, swiping her bloody hair from her face as she looked up to see her mother running towards her, struggling against a sea of people pushing around her to move out of the way faster. _

"_MOMMY!" she screamed, frozen on the spot with tears leaking out of her eyes like she was a broken faucet. She couldn't move. And it looked like her mom couldn't either. _

_She could see met mother's mouth moving , but nothing came out. Or she couldn't hear it. She lay there on the ground, screaming for her mother as they locked eyes before-_

* * *

Frankie shot up, eyes flying open. She gasped, breath ripping through her as she pressed her hands to her face and tried to push the images away from her still throbbing head.

Shakily, Frankie blinked her eyes open, feeling a stiff mattress press up under her hips. It was clear she was in the nurse's office, based on the fluorescent lights and ugly health-related lights themselves were turned up too bright, cutting through the room in a harsh glare. Her eyes, almost too heavy in her head, fell down to her legs where she saw her foot poking out over the edge of the cot. The end of her right pant leg had ridden up, revealing the old, mangled scar around her calf. Another gorish reminder of that day.

The world still felt out of focus, and her ears were ringing. She brought her fingers up and brushed them over her ears, a brushing noise filling her senses almost frighteningly loudly.

As she continued to run her fingers over her ears, Frankie nearly jumped out of the little cot she was laid out in when the nurse herself thew open the door and stepped inside. The teen whipped her head around to see the older woman standing in the little doorway, her wrinkled uniform drooping over her uncomfortably thin frame. The nurse looked her over, her sunken eyes looking mildly annoyed and completely out of her depth.

"Good, you're awake," she said simply, keeping her hand on the door handle, "I was starting to get worried."

Frankie blinked again, dropping her fingers from her ears. "What do you mean worried?"

"Sweetie," the woman sighed, looking the girl over, "You've been passed out for almost eleven hours."

"Wh-what?" the girl sputtered, shooting up from the cot, "How… uh, why?"

"No clue," the nurse shrugged, "But you were burning up for a bit. We called your father to get him to pick you up, maybe take you to the hospital. But he's still a no show, and school's out for the day so I'm heading home soon."

Narrowing her eyes, Frankie straightened up- noting that her back wasn't stiff or popping anymore. "So you were just going to leave me here, unconscious and suspecting I had a major fever?"

"Sweetheart, we're a public school."

Honestly, Frankie didn't have much of an argument for that.

The rest of the conversation was customary and stale. No, her father wouldn't come pick her up. Yes, Frankie could take herself home. No, she wouldn't pass out on the way back. Customary things.

"When did you call my dad?"

The nurse fixed the blonde teen with a look that dripped with pity. It made Frankie's stomach turn and lips twist up in a scowl. She hated that look.

"Called him this morning," she responded before turning back and shutting the door behind her, cheap shoes squeaking against the dirty linoleum floor as she went to gather her things.

As soon as the door shut, Frankie felt her head duck as she picked at the edge of the incredibly thin and cheap blanket underneath her hips. She shouldn't be upset. She knew her dad worked most of the time, and she was definitely glad they hadn't called Charlie in from class. That would've been a nightmare. But she couldn't quite tamper down the little pinch in her chest that started when the nurse mentioned neither was coming.

Leaning her head against the wall, the blonde swallowed the feeling and nodded her head against the cracking plaster. It felt cool on her still slightly sweaty forehead. She didn't feel like walking to the subway, not wanting to find out if her legs were still tight. Taking a deep breath, she pressed her hand against the wall and pushed herself off.

As she swung her legs off the cot, Frankie was immediately yanked back when a sharp ringing split its way through her skull. She cried out, a strangled and barely contained yelp of pain as she pressed her hands to her head. She hadn't even felt herself keel over, but suddenly she was curled up into a ball on the cot.

Then, as quick as it had come, the noise stopped.

Frankie breathed hard, overcome with the sudden silence in her head. The pain wasn't quite there anymore, but something lingered. Shakily, she moved her hands away from her ears and tried to sit up. However, as she did, she saw that her right hand was smeared red. Her eyes widened, bringing her fingertips to her ear again only to have them come back sticky and slick with blood.

"What the fuck?" she muttered, stretching out her fingers to see more blood stuck between them, "Uh- nurse? Nurse? Something's-"

She scrambled to her feet and ran through the door, bloody hand shaking in front of her face. But as she made it through, she heard a loud snap. Feeling her feet slide under her as she tried to come to a stop, Frankie looked down to see that the door handle was splintered and severed from the door. What… the actual fuck?

The blonde lifted her head, tufts of clumsily dyed pink hair falling over her eyes when she saw that no one was there. She turned her head, looking around to see no one. The lights were turned off and clearly Frankie had been left alone. Then how the hell had she heard footsteps?

"Fucking asshole."

Pressing her lips together, the teen quickly snatched up her things before ducking out of the nurses office. She made her way through the halls, tugging her hood up to cover her bloody ears. Shoving her bloody hand into her blazer pocket, she felt like her entire palm was prickling and like a dozen needles were pressing into her skin. And something was going on with the back of her neck. It was going cold, and she felt like something was right behind her.

"Hart!"

Without thinking, Frankie spun around and clamped her hand around a wrist she hadn't known was right above her shoulder. Apparently her grip was tight, because the person let out a yelp before she even thought to let go. Above her was Mr. Harrington, shaking his wrist as if that would relieve the pain.

"Jesus, kid," he muttered, an awkward smile on his face, "You're a lot stronger than you look."

"Uh- yeah," Frankie stuttered, hand frozen where she'd gripped her teachers wrist up in the air, "I kickbox, so…"

"Oh right," the teacher smiled, dropping his hand to his side, "I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay before I left. I heard you'd finally arisen from the dead and so on, so…"

Looking over the awkwardly tall teacher, the blonde pressed a smile onto her face in spite of harsh glare of the light giving her a headache. She lowered her hand into her pocket. "Yeah, I'm- I'm fine. Totally. Just… food poisoning."

The candy haired girl cringed, knowing full well that there was no way what had happened was food poisoning, and Mr. Harrington definitely knew that too. He nodded uncomfortably, hands twitching at his sides. She could practically hear the fabric rustling as he shifted from side to side hammering against her eardrums.

"Well," he shrugged, "I should let you go. Do you have a ride?"

Frankie waved him off, eyes darting all over the hall. "I take the subway."

"That might not be the best idea-"

"I'll call my brother," she interrupted, not wanting to continue getting the third degree.

"Oh, Charlie," Harrington smiled, "Yeah, great kid. Say hello for me."

Frankie didn't even have the energy to hold back the scowl on her face. "Will do."

Luckily for her, the teacher didn't seem to notice the sour look on her face. Or maybe he attributed it to her supposed food poisoning. Either way, he was finally leaving her alone as she pulled out her phone to prove she was going to actually call someone. He took that as a good sign and waved before he walked off towards his classroom. Then, he spun back on his heel like he'd suddenly remembered something.

"Oh, by the way," he said, digging into the little satchel he had strapped around his shoulder, "Since Peter wasn't here today, can you drop off his materials? You both have the weekend to catch up. We can't have both our best members falling behind."

"Yeah- yeah, sure," she muttered, snatching the paper out of Mr. Harrington's hands as she pressed her phone to her ear, "I'll… yeah, I'll see you in class."

She didn't even listen to his parting words as she heard the line click and her brother pick up. There was something loud in the background, and the static was high pitched and painful against her eardrums.

"What?" he said instead of a greeting.

Frankie pulled the the phone away from her ear, the ringing too much to deal with before she tentatively pressed it back. "Charlie?"

"Francine," he groaned, "I'm at practice."

"Don't call me- whatever," she didn't have time to snap at him, and she definitely didn't have the energy, "Could you- uh, can you cut practice early?"

"Why would I do that?" he questioned, his voice pitching up slightly almost as if he was concerned. Frankie knew better.

"Because I'm your sister and I need a ride, you asshole."

Her brother sighed. She could hear someone yelling at him to get off his phone. It didn't sound like the coach, but what would she know? He yelled something back, the voices garbled by the static that cut through her already throbbing head.

"Yes, I'm coming!" she managed to make out before his voice came back to the microphone, "Look, I can get out in an hour. If you just wait around I can-"

"Actually," she interrupted, her chest tightening with embarrassment at even calling her brother at all, "Nevermind."

"Frankie-"

"No, I'm- I'm totally cool." she waved off, her arm pushed deeper into her pocket and body going stiff as if her brother were glaring at her through the phone.

His voice was suddenly more concerned. "Are you still sick or something?"

"All better," she shrugged, voice going soft, "Right as rain and… and other overused colloquialisms. I'll- uh, I'll see you at home."

"Wait, Frank-"

The blonde quickly hung up and moved to shove her phone back into her pocket. As she did, however, she noticed a smear of blood across the screen. She felt her stomach drop, eyes widening as she shoved it deep into her blazer pocket and spun on her heel to run out of the building.

As she burst through the front doors, the world suddenly exploded with noise and light.

Frankie almost screamed, hands flying to her bloody hears and a groan escaping her lips. There wasn't just one sound, but a million. Screeching tires, honking horns, people speaking over each other a thousand at a time. And the sun split through her eyes, cutting into her vision like a knife and making everything blur into nothing. They all clawed through her skull, forcing her to stumble her way over to the nearest wall and press herself into it to stop herself from falling down on her knees.

She couldn't tell what sounds were coming from her and what was coming from around her. What the hell was happening? Frankie felt her hair tangle between her fingers, tugging painfully against her scalp as she pressed bruisingly hard into the concrete wall beside her.

"Frankie?"

That one word felt close by, so she opened up her heavy eyes to see none other than Ben Parker standing in front of her. His work clothes were rumpled up and he looked down at her with a tremendous amount of concern. The older man's mouth opened and closed for a moment before he seemed to settle on something to say.

"Are you okay, kid?" he asked softly, like he knew his voice was too loud.

"I- I'm fine…" she muttered, trying to push herself up straight again in spite of the pulse in her head, "Migraine, I guess."

"That's one hell of a migraine," he chuckled uncomfortably, swaying a little on his feet, "Well, I was just picking up some homework for Peter."

Frankie rubbed at her head, wanting nothing more than to close her eyes against the painful, blurry light around her. "I thought the point of being home sick was to not do schoolwork."

"Yeah well, he'd probably panic even more if he didn't have it," Ben shrugged, waving the stack of papers he must have gotten from the office, "And when Peter panics, May panics and it's a whole thing."

The candy haired girl couldn't help the little quirk of her lips, remembering the manic episodes the two Parker's could get themselves into. "Yeah, they're… they're quite the pair. Well, I should start walking to the subway, and..."

"You know," the older man said gently, taking a step forward, "I could give you a ride back."

"Oh," Frankie breathed, lips pressing together hard and tugging her hood further over her head as if that would block out the sounds, "I couldn't… I take the subway. It's fine."

"We live in the same building," Ben chuckled, stepping up to her and placing a hand on her sweaty shoulder, "Seriously. Get in the car, kid."

The noise and light were all so loud that she didn't even notice that she'd let Ben Parker push her towards the car. She only noticed she was curled up in the backseat when the car burst to life, a deep and painful screech as the engine roared to life and the tires scrape against the concrete below. The teen tried to swallow the groans that were pushing up her throat with each piercing sound. Either she was doing a good job covering Mr. Parker didn't notice or he was too polite to say anything.

It wasn't long before they pulled up to the apartment building- going by car was way faster than going by subway, it turned out- and Frankie wanted nothing more than to tumble out of the car and run all the way up to her room away from the peering eyes of Ben Parker or anyone else. She could still feel the door handle in her pocket and the blood beginning to clot in her ears. This wasn't right. This wasn't some migraine, but what else could it be? Her breathing was shallow, burning her throat as it fought its way into her lungs. What the hell was happening to her?

"Thank you," she choked out, pushing open the door before the older man could see her begin to hyperventilate.

She heard his words garble out something, covered up by the deafening slam of the car door and her feet slapping against the concrete. She pushed her way into the building and up the elevator without anyone noticing her. Shakily, she pulled her phone out of her pocket to see that she'd gotten three texts from Charlie. She didn't bother reading them, too distracted by the dried blood on the screen.

A small whimper escaped her lips as the elevator doors opened and she shoved her phone back into her pocket. The blonde trudged over to her door, nearly falling into her apartment in her rush to get in. The door slammed behind her as she ran over to the little bathroom they all shared. She came to a quivering halt in front of the mirror and ripped down her hood to reveal trails of blood clotted and crusted dry in and around her ears. Her eyes widened and chest tightened as her breathing got quicker and more difficult. Her head swam as she started scratching at the dry blood, trying to rip it off her skin.

"What the fuck…" she whispered, the words wheezy and unintelligible through her panic attack, "What the fuck- what the-"

That's when she felt it.

Her fingers came to a stop on the base of her neck. Gingerly, she felt around the hot and clammy skin only to notice something she hadn't even thought about.

The spider bite was gone.


	6. Frankie Finds A Spider Twin

It was hours before anyone came home. Hours for Frankie to do nothing but stand in front of the mirror, examining the dry blood caking her fingers and ears and rubbing desperately around for a spider bite that was no longer there.

She'd shed her hoodie and blazer a while ago, leaving her in only her tattered Jaws t-shirt and ratty jeans. Cordelia had eventually wandered in, wrapping herself around Frankie's ankles. Her eyes roamed over her arms, not noticing anything new. Still muscular, something she'd always been a little proud of. Nothing that would justify being able to literally rip a door handle off in the nurse's office.

Without warning, Frankie keeled over at the sudden, piercing sound of the front door hinges squeaking open. Her hands flew down to the edges of the sink, gripping it hard to keep herself up off the ground. With the slam of it shutting, the noise stopped and the teen breathed hard, trying to soothe the ache in her skull. Blinking open her eyes, her gaze fell on something that made her empty stomach drop.

With a shuddering breath, Frankie unclenched her hands from the edges of the sink to see the porcelain cracked and ruined where she'd gripped it.

"Frankie?"

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of her brother's voice. She pulled her hand back against her chest like the sink burned her. Thinking quickly, Frankie grabbed the nearest towel and threw it over the cracked sink.

"Y-yeah!" she yelled back, trying to adjust the towel to cover everything.

"You made it home?" he asked through the door, which Frankie thanked whatever was out there she had the good sense to close.

"Totally," she squeaked, hands shaking, "Mr. Parker gave me a lift."

"Why did you need a lift?" Charlie inquired, the door straining under the weight of him clearly leaning on it from the other side, "Did something happen?"

"Just…"

Shit. Shit, what did she say? It wasn't like the nurse wag going to call him anytime soon, but there were very few reasons for her to call him for a ride home. What the hell would cover her right now?

"Cramps!"

Oh, fuck.

"What?" her brother choked, the floor squeaking beneath him, "You- uh, you needed a ride home for that?"

Frankie's eyes squeezed shut, her hand going up to her head about to slap herself for being so stupid. "They were… really bad cramps. Super bad. Which is why I'm… in here."

"Oh," he said, voice distant and confused, "Well… I'm glad you're okay?"

"Thanks!" she piped, hands knotted in her hair and breath still difficult, "I'm just gonna- uh, finish up."

"Yup- yeah, you do that," he stumbled over his words, "I'm gonna… yeah."

They left it at that. Shakily, Frankie tried to cover up whatever the hell she'd done to the sink before scrubbing away the remainder of the dried up blood on her cheeks and between her fingers. It all swirled down the sink in a murky red mix before she dried her face and made her way out of the bathroom. Her feet felt unsteady as she did, the light in the room disorienting.

Her brother stood in the kitchen at the fridge, donning clothes that he definitely hadn't worn to lacrosse. They were too casual. A few grocery bags were littered across the counter, the food transferred into the fridge. He poked his head up at the sound of her footsteps and pressed his lips together into a frown.

"So…" he drawled, shoving a handful of deli turkey into his mouth, "You feeling better?"

"You got groceries?" Frankie diverted, nodding towards the stray plastic bags.

"Uh, yeah," he shrugged, swallowing the food in his mouth, "Not like dad's gonna do it."

The candy haired girl couldn't help but nod her head. She hadn't actually seen her father in almost four days. He'd been at the office, or wherever the hell he always disappeared to. It really didn't matter in the long run. He wasn't there and there hadn't been food in the fridge for two days.

"Guess he was busy," the blonde shrugged weakly, keeping her hands behind her hips in case there was any blood between her nails, "I didn't know you had practice today."

Charlie's eyes flicked up to her, lips pressed together and jaw tight. "Yeah. Everyday, dumbass."

"For six hours?" Frankie shot back, giving him a scowl.

Her brother scowled right back, throwing the turkey back into the fridge. "Didn't know you timed me."

Rolling her eyes, Frankie crossed her arms and shuffled her feet beneath her. Her bad foot pulled slightly, making her lips press hard together. Her brother, the asshole, noticed and nodded towards her foot.

"Hurting again?" he mumbled, rifling through his backpack.

The teenage girl waved him off, taking the weight off her right foot. "If I'm not limping, I'm fine."

Charlie looked at her, accepting whatever she'd said and pulling out his homework and spreading it across the counter. "You haven't limped in years. Quit bitching."

"Hey," the teenage girl piped, eyes squinting against the harsh brightness of the room that didn't seem to bother her brother, "I was actually gonna go on a quick walk. Y'know, get fresh air. Try and alleviate the- the cramps."

Her brother didn't even look up from his textbook. "There's no fresh air in Queens."

"Eat shit, Charlie," she bit back, snatching an old hoodie off of a chair next to her along with a pair of sunglasses, "I'll see you whenever."

Not even waiting for a response, Frankie heard her feet reverberate against the floor as she stomped out of the apartment. Slamming the door behind her- again, she should really stop slamming stuff, although the pain was a little duller- the teen threw on the hoodie as she walked towards the elevator. As the doors slid open and she stepped inside, she felt an old beanie in her pocket. She pulled it out, seeing the faded red fabric bunch up in her fist. The material was thick, and Frankie wondered if maybe it would muffle all the noise. Without thinking too hard, she shoved the thing over her hair and over her ears.

It did help, just barely.

Stepping out of the elevator, the teen peered around the corner to make sure Perry wasn't there. She really didn't have the energy to smile and converse and whatever people did so easily. What if he saw the blood? What if he asked too many questions, and she was sent to the hospital, and they cut her open-

She quickly shook her head. Now was not the time to freak out.

Confident that another person was manning the desk, Frankie ducked her head and walked as quickly as she could out of the lobby and into the streets. Once again, the sounds of the world outside the lobby hit her like a ton of bricks, practically breaking her eardrums. She stumbled back, pressing her hands to her ears and squeezing her eyes shut. Quickly, she reached into her pocket again and dug out the sunglasses before shoving them over her eyes.

Carefully, she opened her eyes to see that the brightness had dimmed just enough to make it bearable. She sighed, relief flooding through her as she looked around to see if there was anyone she knew around. As far as she could tell, no one was. Good.

Taking one last look, Frankie stumbled over to the alley behind the apartment building. She kept counting her steps in, something to keep herself calm.

The place was empty and smelled like piss, populated only by a large, greasy dumpster and cracked brick walls. It was a little quieter than out on the street, meaning no one was around. At least, she assumed. Coming to a stop in front of the dumpster, the girl felt her hands shaking as she stared at the dirty, thick metal in front of her.

"Okay…" she muttered, twisting her fingers together nervously, "Okay, it's- I'm fine. This is just a normal day with… bleeding ears and possible super strength. It's fine."

Her twisted fingers stilled as she kept looking at the dumpster. Her jaw tightened, untangling her fingers and pressing them into fists. "Okay, this is nothing. I'm just- I'm just gonna hit this… dumpster."

Breathing deeply to try and keep her hands from shaking, Frankie raised her right fist. She continued to mutter under her breath, her arm going up and down uncertainly until finally yelled out a strangled '_fuck!' _and slammed her fist into the metal.

There was pain. Holy shit, there was pain.

"Oh my-" she choked out, pressing her fist into her chest, "Holy shit!"

Her knuckles throbbed, fingers stiff and stuck in a fist as she cradled it deep into her chest. The grime and sticky slime smeared over her hand. Her breath rattled in her lungs as she tried to breathe through the pain of it. However, as she looked up, what she was probably even scarier.

At eye level, pressed deep into the grimy metal was a dent. Not just a cool, I might be stronger than I look dent. The thing was deep, the metal warped and thin against the strain. Eyes wide, Frankie took a careful step forward. Lifting her already swelling fist, she slowly put it in the hole to see that it went past her wrist, far too deep to be… human.

"What the fuck?"

Her head whipped around, making sure no one was around. She didn't care that she hadn't heard anyone approach, there was no way she wasn't going to be sure no one could see her.

Confident that no one had come near, Frankie retracted her hand from the dent and stepped around the dumpster to stand in front of the cracked and graffitied brick wall behind it. She didn't care if it would hurt, she had to know what the fuck she could do. Lifting her swollen fist once again- this time shielded by the sleeve of her hoodie- she slammed it into the brick with a barely contained cry.

She could feel her skin split as her knuckles went through the red brick, the fabric barely saving her from ripping it all off. Pain erupted all the way up to her wrist. She didn't even give herself time to think about how much it hurt as she pulled her fist out of the wall, the skin on the ends of her fingers shredding off as she did.

"Fuck!" she yelled, cradling her bleeding hand as she stared at the crumbed hole in the wall.

"This is…" she whispered, letting her grip on her wrist loosen as she tried to breathe normally, "This can't be real."

Having to tear her eyes away from the damage she'd done, Frankie looked down at her hand. The skin was shredded to hell, knuckles swollen and bright red. There was no doubt it would be bruised black. Sighing, she tugged the sleeve of her hoodie over her injured fist and looked out at the opening to the alley. Across the street was a run down pharmacy, definitely stocked with rubbing alcohol and bandages. Pressing the sunglasses further up her nose, she ducked out of the alley and across the street, into the dirty pharmacy.

The ring of the little bell above the door made Frankie want to punch through the plaster walls if she hadn't already ripped her hand apart. The cap was doing nothing to help. All it did was muffle the noise a little, but not enough to make it bearable.

"Hello and welcome to the store," a pimple faced, apathetic teen droned from behind the register, not even looking up.

"Leave me alone," Frankie mumbled back, shuffling into a random aisle.

"No problem," the guy muttered back, not even bothering to change facial expressions. She kinda respected that.

Just as she turned into the aisle, she was met with the last person she wanted to see right now.

Standing in the middle of the aisle, eyes glassy and trained on a display of different kinds of aspirin, Peter stood hunched over and barely alive. Frankie felt her lips press together and twist into a scowl. But something stopped her from snapping at him.

Something was off about the other boy. From this distance, she couldn't quite tell. He looked like he was wearing his middle school clothes, the pants too short and exposing his leg halfway up the calf. Peter trembled slightly, hand poking in and out as if he was afraid to grab hold of the bottle of off brand ibuprofen in front of him.

Unable to avoid the whole case of painkillers, Frankie shuffled over to the display beside the brown haired boy and reached out to grab the cheapest kind right in front of his face. The movement startled him, his wide eyes landing on her like a spooked deer.

"If you say anything above a whisper," she began to threaten him, eyes boring into his angrily through her sunglasses, "I will punch you directly in the dick."

Almost immediately, his face fell into an expression that matched her own. "Not today, Frankie."

"What did I say about the noise level?" she bit back, looking over the label of the pill bottle in her hand.

"I'm barely whispering," he grumbled, though it sounded like he was yelling in her ear, "Please go away."

"Not a problem, douche-nozzle," Frankie responded, annoyance clear in her voice.

She turned on her heel, but the light and noise combined with sudden movement made her dizzy. The aisle swirled around her, and she quickly grabbed onto one of the shelves to steady herself. Apparently, Peter noticed, too.

"You look like shit, by the way," he muttered, staying where he was but observing her distastefully, "You hungover or something?"

She turned her head, sending him a sickly sweet smile. "You really know how to make a girl feel special, Parker."

"Oh, just for you darling," he shot back, his smile just as sarcastic and venomous. He was right, of course. That was a look reserved especially for her.

Frankie scoffed, about to turn around when she saw something that made her mind snap in place. Peter lifted his hand to grab onto the same bottle she did, but she realized there was something missing.

There was no spider bite.

"Did…" the candy haired girl choked out, her breath falling out of her chest, "How's the bite?"

She saw his brows furrow, gaze turning towards her with a confusing stare. "Uh- what?"

"You got…" she stuttered, words suddenly evaporating on her tongue as she felt her whole face fall into a shocked expression, "Holy shit."

"Okay," Peter muttered, rubbing his forehead exasperatedly, "You're insane. Or on drugs. Please let me leave now."

He was about to step around her, but Frankie wasn't about to let him get away. Not now.

Without warning, she shot out her hand and grabbed hold of his arm and started dragging him towards the bathroom in the back corner of the store. The boy was dragged behind her, legs nearly falling out from underneath him as he struggled to readjust. His eyes went up to her, wild and unsure.

"What- what the hell are you-"

"Shut up, Parker," she bit, ripping open the door and throwing him inside. He slammed into the far wall as she turned and locked the door, keeping them both inside.

"Okay, what the hell is-"

She spun around, pulling off her sunglasses and staring him right in the eyes. "Spider."

Peter's mouth suddenly clammed shut, face going paler than usual. "W-what?"

"You were bitten by a freaky looking spider two days ago," she explained, almost as if she were explaining it to a child. He didn't seem to mind so much, as he was more thrown by the fact that she was asking about it at all.

"I mean… yeah," he muttered unconvincingly, fingers twisted in the sleeves of his shirt nervously.

"Holy fucking shit."

Frankie felt her jaw fall open, her hands rising to cover her mouth as if that would stop her from looking like she's been slapped in the face by the boy in front of her. A boy, she just noticed, was not wearing his glasses.

"Why the fuck are you not wearing your glasses?" she asked, voice a little harsher than she'd intended.

"You're freaking me out," he ignored her, body tight and nervous.

"Okay then," she shrugged, pointing towards his hand, "Show me."

"Excuse-"

"Show me the bite," she clarified, keeping her eyes on him seriously.

"N-no!" he stammered, trying to step around her before she grabbed his arm again to keep her in place, "What's wrong with you?"

"So you're not gonna show me?" she simpered.

"No." he spat, still held in place and glaring down at her.

"Because you won't or because you can't?"

Peter's mouth flapped open and closed like he wasn't sure how to respond. As he seemed to try and find the right words to explain his way out of this, Frankie noticed something that should have slapped her in the face immediately. The fact that she was looking _up _at him.

"When did you get taller?" she questioned, realizing that she only came up to his chin.

His arms crossed over his chest, eyes refusing to meet hers. "When did you get shorter?"

"Okay, listen," she said quietly, looking up at him with what she hoped was earnestness, but was probably more panicked than anything else, "I'm only going to ask this once, and if- if I sound like a total freak, we're going to pretend this never happened. And if you tell anyone, I'm going to rip you apart limb from limb. Apparently, I can do that now."

Peter's mouth twisted up- she also noted his acne was gone, was hers?- and he snarled down at her. "Let me out right now-"

"Limb from fucking limb, Parker," she cut him off savagely, not able to keep the desperation out of her voice, "You got it?"

The brown haired boys face shifted, seemingly seeing that something was really wrong. Hell, he should know that she wouldn't willingly talk to him if it wasn't necessary. "Yes- yeah, I got it."

"Okay…" she sighed, finally letting go of his arm and holding her hands up carefully, "After you got bit, you got really sick, right?"

"Yes…" he responded, nodding carefully.

"And what happened after that?"

"I- I'm not sure how…" he stuttered, eyes darting around the grimy bathroom before landing on her hand, "What the hell happened to you?"

"Peter, I'm serious," she insisted, tugging her sleeve back up to cover her hand, "I'm not fucking with you or- or pulling some shit, okay? No airhorns, no jelly in your pencil bag- although, admittedly, that was hilarious. Just- just fucking tell me what happened after you passed out."

Peter's eyes widened, leaning back nervously. "How did you know I passed out? Were you stalking me or something?"

"Like I'm interested in the life and times of a boy getting slammed by the sudden urge to jack off," she spat at him, beginning to pace around the small space now that she knew he wasn't going to run out of the bathroom, "I know because… because that's when it started for me."

"You-" Peter gasped, his head ducking down to meet her eyes,"You got bitten too?"

"Yeah," she muttered, pointing at where there was supposed to be a huge bite, "Back of the neck after the field trip. Hurt like a bitch."

The other boy nodded slowly, seeming to remember how much it hurt. Then, like a thought suddenly entered his head, he snapped his eyes over to her. "Does that mean… does that mean you…"

"Some weird shit's going on," Frankie nodded, twisting her fingers nervously together, "And I'm betting it's not puberty. If it is, eighties movies lied to me."

"I'm guessing that's a safe bet," he conceded, mimicking her nervous posture, "So… so you can… it happened to you, too?"

Frankie's hand twitched, not really wanting to punch anything again. Her eyes raked over the room, looking for something she could break. Finally landing on something, the blonde reached over the sink, wrapping her hand around the faucet before jerking her wrist and ripping the metal from the appliance. The end was splintered and rough, sickly brown water spilling out from the hole. Holding up the broken appliance, she looked up at Peter to see his face ashen and jaw open wide with shock.

"I- what?" he stammered, hands lifting up like he wasn't sure quite what to do with them, "What the fuck?"

"What?" she asked, brows pulling together. "You can do this too, right?"

"Not exactly. But it seems like a serious problem for society that you can."

"You're telling me this shit isn't happening to you?"

Ripping off her cap, Frankie pulled back her greasy hair and pointed towards her ear. She could see in the mirror that it had started bleeding again, though not as heavily as it had before. She got her answer in the disgusted and strangely worried expression on Peter's face.

His mouth flew open, hands twitching up like he had the instinct to grab her face but bought better of it. "That- oh my god, are you okay?"

Frankie couldn't stop the scoff from escaping her lips. "Like you care."

"Of course I- I'm not a fucking monster, okay?" Peter's hands shoved into his jacket pocket, face annoyed and still a little concerned. "I care if your head if freaking bleeding."

"How…" she searched for a word, "Nice?"

He snorted, rolling his eyes a little. "I really worry about you, sometimes."

"Thanks for thinking of me, dick face."

"I retract my worry for you."

"Thank you, that's much better," Frankie simpered. Quickly, her face fell back into nervousness as she held up the handle of the sink. "So what the hell can you do if it's not all… this."

"I can… can you give me a boost?"

"A what?"

"Just, pick me up a little."

Thoroughly weirded out, Frankie didn't even have the energy to argue. She just wrapped her arms around Peter's middle and picked him up. He basically weighed nothing, though whether that was because he was the human equivalent of a green bean or because of her newfound freakshow talent, she had no idea. She watched as he lifted his arms up as she lifted, pressing his palms to the ceiling. Lowering his brown eyes, he looked down at her and nodded with a nervous, almost queasy look.

"Okay, let go."

The girl peered up at him, brows scrunched together. "Are you planning on breaking your ankles?"

"Just let go, you dick," he snapped at her, glaring at the girl who was holding him up.

"Hey, don't call me a dick, you dick-"

Whatever insults Frankie was about to sling at Peter died in her mouth. She'd let him go, prepared to let him drop like a sack to the ground. Maybe even laugh at him while he did. But that didn't happen. Instead, she gaped up at the teenage boy hanging by his fingertips from the ceiling, legs swinging several feet off the ground. His face was twisted and nervous, afraid in the same way Frankie was when she looked at that hole in the brick mere minutes ago.

Fear. That's what they had in common.

"Okay…" she whispered, pushing her hair back out of her face, "I definitely can't do that."

Peter's eyes stilled on her own, still hanging and legs swinging. "I think we might need to talk about this."

* * *

After tugging him off of the ceiling- bits of plaster still stuck to his palms- the two teens ran out of the pharmacy and into their building. The elevator ride up to Peter's floor was silent, tense. There was a solid five feet between them at all times, but Peter couldn't help sneaking glances at the girl beside him. Her poorly dyed hair was a mess under her cap, and her head kept twitching from side to side in a way that made him even more nervous to be beside her.

Even without all that she looked… different. She'd grown at least an inch, but he'd never had to look down at her. She'd always been taller than him. And all her acne was just gone, leaving her pale skin unmarried for the first time in years. Even her shoulders were a little trimmer. Barely noticeable, but there. She was already muscular up top, but everything seemed a little more spread out now.

She seemed to feel his eyes on her, turning her gaze accusingly towards him.

"Stop staring at me," she hissed, green eyes squinting dangerously at him. He quickly eyes his head away from her, keeping them trained on the elevator doors.

They stayed that way, stepping out of the elevator and into his apartment. Peter was careful to wrap his hand in the sleeve of his jacket before touching the doorknob. He didn't want to get stuck again. He turned to Frankie, pressing a finger to his lips. The girl seemed to get the idea, nodding her head and stepping quietly through the door.

Peter could hear May and Ben speaking in their room, seemingly unaware that the two teens had entered. They crept quietly towards his room, sliding in and silently closing the door behind them. As he pressed the door closed, Peter turned to see Frankie eyeing his room carefully.

"Not much has changed," she observed quietly, pointing towards his bed, "Same sheets."

He stared at her, unsure of what to say. It had been years since she'd been in this apartment, let alone in his room. "Did you wanna talk about my sheets?"

"No," she spat, her face flicking from annoyed to carefully controlled, "I just… I don't know. This doesn't make sense."

"You're telling me," Peter sighed, running his hands over his face and stepping away from the door, "I wake up with perfect vision and abs and weird sticky hands-"

"Abs?"

Dropping his hands from his face, the boy gave Frankie an incredulous look. "Out of everything we've talked about, the abs are what's got you shocked?"

Her hands went up in mock surrender, though her face was just as aggressive as it had been before. "I'm just processing-"

"I should've known better than to- to talk to you about any of this," Peter huffed, glaring right back at her. He didn't want her here. She was literally the last person he wanted here with him. "You're so-"

"I'm so what?" she cut him off, eyes widening and fists tightening at her side, "Seriously, who the hell else are you supposed to talk to about this crap without being thrown in the looney bin or shipped off to some SHIELD secret lab to be cut open?"

"Literally anyone else!" Peter snapped, barely containing his voice and alerting his aunt and uncle to their presence, "You are the last person I want to share secret superpowers with."

"I'm not exactly thrilled either, asshole!" Frankie scoffed, hands flying up wildly and eyes flicking all over the room as if she didn't know what to look at, "I didn't ask for this."

"Well, neither did I."

"How the hell are we supposed to figure this out?" she continued, voice tighter and fingers twisting together the way they always did when she was nervous. "There's not exactly a wikipedia page for mutant spider bites."

Peter sighed, bringing his hands up to his head and clutching his hair. "I don't- I don't know. Maybe we got spider-ish powers?"

She eyed him warily, disbelief written all over her sharp face. "Spider-ish?"

"I can stick to stuff," he shrugged, unsure of how to explain the theory without sounding like a freak, "You have massive strength- spiders can carry up to a hundred and seventy times their weight. And- and what's going on with your ears?"

Frankie's fingers travelled up and ghosted over the shell of her right ear. He could see traces of blood peeking out from under her cap and behind her hair. He watched as her lips pressed together and fingers shook almost imperceptibly.

"It's… it's more like all my senses," she barely whispered, fingers staying by her ear, "Like everything's happening at max volume ten seconds before it's actually happened. Like…"

Oh, shit.

"Like you know if something's gonna happen before it does?"

Her eyes snapped up to his, all traces of annoyance forgotten. "You too?"

"Clearly not as bad as you," he almost laughed at that, pointing towards her bloody ear, "It's more in my eyes. Everything's too bright, too sharp. And I get this weird feeling, kinda like a tingle at the back of my neck."

The girl nodded her head slowly, hair falling over her shoulders as she did. Her hand dropped, forgotten at her side. Her eyes flicked up, thinking about something like she'd forgotten it. He remembered that look well. It hadn't changed since they were five. Slowly and carefully, her lips parted and she looked back up at him.

"I read once that spider's senses can border on precognition," she said, choosing her words carefully, "Is that what's happening to me? I mean- I mean to us?"

"I-" Peter stammered, hand going up and down in an unsure gesture of solidarity, "I don't know."

Out of nowhere, Frankie's green eyes widened like she'd seen a ghost. Peter stepped back slightly, unsure of what the hell was going through her head.

"Oh god," she whispered, suddenly walking straight towards him with wide, scared eyes, "Am I gonna start spitting venom?"

"What?" he responded incredulously, frozen on the spot.

"Spiders spit venom," she hissed, voice high and scared, "Am I gonna start- I don't wanna start spitting anything."

"D-don't freak out," Peter stammered, his own mind going through every terrifying power they might have inherited and feeling his hands shake, "If you freak out I'm gonna start freaking out."

"Well, I'm freaking out!" she cried, hands pressed against her head and backing up on unsteady feet.

"Goddamn it!" he whispered back, his body mimicking hers as she genuinely started freaking out.

The two breathed hard, trying desperately to control their panic. Peter breathed hard, but not as hard as Frankie. She looked like she was drowning on dry land, arms flailing at her sides as he leaned against the door for support. Without thinking, he grabbed hold of her arm and opened his mouth to try and calm her down when both of them felt their ears perk up.

Footsteps.

Frankie and Peter stared wide eyed at each other for a second before straightening up and putting some distance between each other. Peter ran his hand down his face to wipe away a stray tear that had escaped his eye and Frankie shoved bother her hands in her hoodie pockets to stop anyone from seeing them shake. They barely pulled it together as the sound of the door squeaking open ripped through the room.

"Peter, what's with all the-" May's voice was a little worried as she entered the room, stopping cold when she saw the other occupant. "Oh. Hello, Frankie."

"Hey, Mrs. Parker," she said, the shake in her voice barely there but noticeable if you knew her well enough, "Long time no see."

"What are you- uh, what are you doing here?" his aunt questioned, a smile carefully placed on her face that said she wasn't quite comfortable with the girl in front of her. May's eyes flicked over to her nephew. "Peter, I thought you were at the pharmacy?"

"Uh, well-" he stammered, scratching nervously at his neck, "Uh, you see-"

"Chemistry project," Frankie piped up, voice a little squeaky before she cleared her throat and evened it out, "Yeah, the teacher told me to bring him the news. He thought if we had some sort of bonding experience we'd stop disrupting the class to throw wads of paper at each other's heads."

May snapped her gaze over to him, looking disappointed. "You were throwing wads of paper at Frankie's head?"

Peter shot a glare at the blonde girl beside him before looking guiltily over at his aunt. "Only… twice."

"Peter, you know you can't-"

"Where's the fire?" another voice rang out. A voice that was quickly followed by his Uncle Ben walking into the room. Peter wanted to slam his head against the wall. Why did they all have to come in now of all times?

"Oh, hello Frankie," Ben greeted kindly, looking far less suspicious than May, "How's Cordelia?"

"Hasn't wandered off once," she provided with a big fake smile, "Sorry about that."

Ben smiled down at her. "You apologize too much, kid."

"Sorry," she repeated distractedly.

"Sweetie, they're working on a project together," May provided, her voice just a little tighter than usual. Which meant Peter was going to have to do some explaining later.

"That'll be nice," his uncle responded enthusiastically, pumping his fist in a manner that made Peter want to sink into the floor with secondhand embarrassment. "Gang's back together."

"The gang is definitely not back together," the teenage boy interrupted glumly, shooting Frankie a warning look, "Just… forced together for the time being."

"Well, it wasn't exactly my choice, was it?" She simpered, barely covering her anger with a sickly disposition.

"Okay then," Ben waved them off, smile still gracing his face, "Just don't burn the place down in the process."

"Actually," Frankie cut in, pointing towards the door, "I was just leaving. Got other homework and such."

"You sure?" Peter inquired, fixing his eyes on her, "I thought we had to discuss some stuff."

"It can wait," she responded, giving him another big fake smile before stepping towards the front door, "Nice to- uh, to see you all again."

Her head was ducked as she pushed her way towards the door. Peter could see his uncle's mouth opening, most likely about to inviter her to dinner- an act that would annoy May to no end. But before any sound could escape his lips, Frankie suddenly turned on her heel and looked Peter dead in the eye.

"Hey, Peter," she said, her voice carefully arrogant but eyes serious, "That project. Do you wanna work on it this weekend?"

The boy furrowed his brows, shooting her a confused look. "What are you-"

"The big project," Frankie interrupted pointedly, "Do you want to work on it with me tomorrow? I mean, it's gonna take, like, the whole semester."

Realization dawned on him. He had to hand it to her, it was a good cover story. "Oh- yeah. Yeah, let's meet up tomorrow."

She nodded, turning back towards the door. "Don't keep me waiting."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

With that, she shut the door behind her and left the Parker's standing around, a little more than confused. Peter felt his stomach twist in knots, hoping his family would let this one go.

May was the first to break the silence. "Well, she was acting strange."

"I think she was normal," he tried, voice squeaking a little. Even to Peter's ears, that was a pretty bold lie. "Well, I- I should probably get a jump on decathlon stuff. Y'know, since I missed practice."

"Are you feeling well enough for that?" May questioned, her hand going up to check his temperature.

"Yeah! Yeah, totally," he dodged her hand, ducking out of the way and towards his room, "I'm just gonna- uh, be in my room."

"Okay," she relented, looking back up at Ben, "I'll make you some dinner in a bit."

"Perfect," he squeaked, quickly shutting the door with a slam and leaning against it in an attempt to breathe for a moment.

Everything felt like it was just too much. The bite. Passing out for hours. Weird, spider based powers and now Frankie Hart of all people was the only one he could talk to about any of this. He wondered if his life could get any worse, but he didn't want to tempt fate.

With a sigh, Peter walked towards his open window, poking his head out for a small breath of fresh air. As he did, he heard something creak above his head.

"Y'know, there's no fresh air in Queens."

Craning his neck, the brown haired boy looked up to where Frankie's window sat open. The girl in question stood on her own fire escape, looking down at him with pursed lips and a sour expression .

Instead of answering that very strange statement, Peter peered up at her. "You're a really good liar."

She knew what he was talking about. The blonde looked out into the city for a brief moment before shrugging down at him. "I got good at it."

"But you used to suck at lying," he pointed out, unable to stop the slight quirk at the edge of his mouth, "I mean, you'd start stuttering and sweating and-"

"I said I got good," Frankie cut him off with a glare, eyes cutting right through him. "Practice, dipshit. Not like you'd know."

He scoffed, leaning back a little. "Not like you'd let me."

Something about what he'd said made her shift around on her feet. The old metal grating squealed beneath her, making her groan in pain for a moment. She didn't acknowledge it, so neither did he. Instead, he watched as she looked down at him with intense eyes.

"This doesn't make us friends," she stated simply, a little quieter than usual.

"Right," Peter grumbled, his own face falling a fraction, "Never said we were."

Her lips opened, a retort clearly on her mind when they were both interrupted by someone yelling. It was coming from inside her apartment. Peter watched as she closed her eyes, taking a breath before glaring at him once more with a little more vigor.

He pointed towards her window, looking up at her questioningly. "Is that coming from-"

"It doesn't concern you, Parker," she spat, eyes flicking inside her own window for a moment, "Go back to the Brady Bunch or whatever. We'll discuss tomorrow."

She didn't give him a chance to respond, crawling inside her window without a goodbye. Peter let out a huff, leaning heavily against the windowsill. His jaw clenched. He didn't like being angry, even at his former best friend.

Instead, he listened for a moment. There was another yell, someone calling someone else an asshole. He would have pegged it on Frankie if the voice wasn't distinctly male. He briefly wondered what was happening in there, but it wasn't his business.

Guilt briefly flickered through him. He should care. He did. But he hadn't ventured even close to trying to look into her family since she lost her mom. When she'd truly shut him out of his life. It hadn't worked out well for him then.

He sent her one last scowl- it didn't matter if she saw it or not- and ducked back into his room, shutting the window as he did.


	7. The Spider Twins Run Some Tests

Frankie stared out at the bleak morning sky, her gut twisting up in tight knots.

She hadn't slept much that night. It was almost impossible with her father finally showing up. She'd stayed quiet- she always did when her dad showed up- but Charlie had been pissed. She could never get why, considering he was their dad's favorite. And so what if he was gone most of the time? It wasn't much different when he was around.

Instead of participating in whatever tense, testosterone fueled half-argument those two would get themselves into, Frankie had retreated into her room and stayed there with Cordelia. Curling in on herself with an empty stomach and the constant thrum in her skull didn't provide much room for rest, so she'd packed a bag of possible tools to help herself and Peter figure out what what happening to them. She'd managed a few fitful hours of sleep, dozing in and out but never really going under. It all made her brain feel fuzzy.

Now, though, her brain felt… alive. Her whole body felt like someone had plugged her in and charged her up. Every nerve was buzzing, every sense cranked up to twelve. It didn't negate the ache in her gut, but what did it matter?

Pressing her hand against her stomach, she could feel the tightness knotting up the lining. It felt emptier than usual, more painful. She hadn't eaten since… well, two days ago. Kind of. She definitely remembered eating some crackers at some point yesterday morning. That legally counted as a meal. Frankie dug her fingers in deeper to her stomach, finding it much firmer than it had been before, less bony. Her brows pulled together, looking down and tugging her shirt up. Instead of a distinct ribcage, a new wall of lean muscle peeked out from her old Cabaret t-shirt.

"What the fuck?" she whispered to herself, remembering Peter mentioning growing a set of abs in the span of a few hours. Her fingers traced the new muscle, the action a little painful as it all felt sore.

Sighing, Frankie tugged her shirt back down, deciding to deal with that particular oddity later. Pushing her hair back, she stepped out of her room into the silent kitchen. Everyone else was asleep and left the teen with no one to tell her what to eat. She tugged the fridge open, looking at the newly stocked food. Spinach, pasta sauce, milk. Plenty of stuff athletes shoved down their throats to bulk up. It was all gross. And anyway, she didn't need anything. She felt too good to weigh herself down with any of the disgusting contents of the fridge.

Without thinking, she reached towards a bag of grapes sitting in the back corner of the fridge before her hand froze. Her fingers felt limp as she thought about actually putting anything in her body. It's not like she really wanted it there. Without making a sound, she popped off one grape and shoved it in her mouth so quick she wouldn't be able to taste it as it went down. If she couldn't taste it, it wouldn't be there.

Spinning back around as quietly as possible, Frankie made her way back into her room. The sound of her father snoring through the wall and her brother tapping on his phone screen were uncomfortably loud in her ears as she shuffled around in her own room and threw on her backpack and sticking a cheap pair of earplugs in. She wanted out of this apartment. The quicker the better.

As she lifted her duct taped window- which let out a particularly painful squeak- her eyes caught sight of the papers Mr. Harrington had told her to pass on to Peter. With a shrug, she snatched up the stack of crumpled up decathlon questions and made her way down the fire escape. It squealed and groaned beneath her feet, making Frankie wonder if her ears would bleed again or if she would ever get used to the constant stream of noise. Soon enough, she was outside Peter's window, looking in on him curled up in some ratty Star Wars pajamas. Pressing her lips together, she started tapping her fingers on the glass erratically to wake him up.

"Hey, Parker," she squeaked, voice high and sickly sweet, "Wakey wakey."

She felt a smirk grow over her face as Peter jolted awake, head whipping around only to see her crouched outside his window. "What are you doing?"

"Issuing a wakeup call," she shrugged, watching him lean forward to see her better, "Get your ass out of bed."

"It's five thirty in the morning," he groaned, rubbing his eyes and somehow glaring at her simultaneously.

"And we've got psycho mutant powers," she responded excitedly, tapping her fingers on the glass again, "I think we can sleep later, don't you?"

With a groan, Peter ran his hands over his face and nodded his head sleepily. "Fine. Yes, I'm up."

"There's a good boy," Frankie simpered, leaning back on her heels, "Now put on human clothes."

"Shut up," he grumbled, sliding out of bed and leaving it a complete mess, "Is this going to be a daily thing?"

That was actually a good question. She hadn't planned that far, thinking only about seeing how tough a surface she could break with her knuckles. Maybe see how long Peter could stick to something. "Let's just start with today. Figure out what the fuck we're gonna do long term later."

Peter nodded, seemingly okay with that plan. She wouldn't be surprised if he didn't have any clue what long term meant, either.

"Can you at least turn your back while I change?" he asked grumpily, eyeing her warily.

"Whatever you say, princess," she waved him off, sliding the window open and slipping through while keeping her eyes off the boy who was trying to change behind his closet door, "Oh, by the way, I have your decathlon notes."

"What?" he piped, his voice a little deeper than it had been before the whole super spider bite thing.

"From the practice you missed," she explained, pulling the papers out of her backpack, "Harrington wanted me to pass them along. I was going to before… yeah, before all this shit."

He seemed to understand if his lack of a comeback was any indication. "Well, uh- just put them on the desk, please."

Frankie felt herself chuckle a bit as she dropped the stack of papers down on Peter's messy desk. "Please, so very polite."

"Someone has to be."

"Whatever," she scoffed, turning around to see Peter donning an old AP Bio shirt and some ratty jeans, "You ready?"

"Do you know where we're going?" he asked tersely, crossing his arms and looking Frankie in the eyes.

A slow smile crept over the pink haired girl's face, something she knew was pretty Grinch-like. She crossed her own arms, mimicking the curly haired boy in front of her as she smirked up at him.

"I have an idea."

* * *

"This is a terrible idea."

Frankie scoffed as the two of them looked up at the old abandoned building, the sound of traffic and wind muffled but deafening against her plugged up eardrums. The place was far out of sight, blocked off by shut down bodegas and apartments that were infected with asbestos. No one ventured out here, making it the perfect place to test out some secret super powers. Particularly, how high up Peter can climb.

"Maybe," she shrugged, tossing him a look over her shoulder, "Do you have anything better?"

"No…" he grumbled, lips pouting nervously as he looked at how high up the building went, "Why can't you start?"

She rolled her eyes. "Because I'm not the one who sticks to things."

Sighing, his pout turned into a glare. "This is so not fair."

"Life isn't fair, sweetheart," the blonde simpered, pointing a finger at the grimy building in front of them, "Now climb."

Peter kept glancing nervously at the building, no doubt judging how far a fall it would be if he didn't manage to stick as well as he hoped. "I- I don't know how."

Frankie was not about to let Peter Parker and his stupid nervous energy get in the way of her figuring all shit shit out. She was too wired, too excited to let any of this deter her. So she raked her eyes over the boy beside her and tried to figure out what would force him up.

"Well," she said, pointing towards his whole body, "Do clothes get in the way?"

"Uh-" he drawled uncomfortably, eyes landing on her, "What?"

"I mean shoes and stuff," she clarified, pointing more clearly towards his feet, "Is it easier with just skin?"

Peter's eyes went down, brows pulling together curiously. "Oh, I- I haven't really thought about it."

"Well, let's err on the side of caution then," Frankie lilted jovially, crossing her arms over her chest, "Shoes off."

"Don't tell me what to-"

"Shoes off, Parker. For science."

"Well, if it's for science," the brown haired boy rolled his eyes, already bending down to untie his worn out sneakers. As he did, he looked back up at the pink haired girl above him. "What about you?"

Frankie tilted her head curiously. "What about me?"

"What are you testing out?" he asked, tossing his sneakers aside.

Instead of answering, the girl quickly ripped her backpack off of her shoulders and unzipped it. She plunged her hand in and started digging through the notebooks and tools she'd packed before letting out an excited little squeak and removing a roll of boxing wraps. She proudly lofted the old black fabric and held it up in front of Peter's eyes.

"I'm gonna see just how much I can bust up before I break my hands," she smirked, feeling tufts of pink hair fall over her eyes.

Peter, unfortunately, did not look as excited as she did. His mouth fell open, eyes squinting in concern as he shifted on his feet. "Okay, that's definitely a bad idea."

"Don't worry, I brought you some wraps too," the girl quickly waved him off, dropping her pack and beginning to wrap up her knuckles, "Figured we might test out how much you can break."

"You look way too excited about this," the boy pointed out worriedly.

She knew, somewhere in the back of her head, that he was at least a little correct. This was an upswing. A bright spot, like her brain was buzzing with chance and sunlight. She could break a wall with her bare hands. She was a goddamn freak of nature. But damn, did it feel good. And fuck Peter Parker for making her feel bad about it.

Instead of answering, she shot him a wide smile. "Shut up and climb, spider boy."

Peter looked at her again, wary and off putting before he slowly nodded his head. He glanced back at the building- which Frankie thought wasn't even that tall at four stories- before making his way over. The candy haired girl followed him. Running up the side of the walls was a series of fire escapes, but Frankie didn't necessarily want to climb them. Without thinking, she shot out her hand and grabbed onto Peter's shirt.

"Wait!" she said excitedly, grabbing the boy's attention, "Wait- can we see if I can stick?"

"Uh-" Peter stammered, looking a little relieved that he wasn't going to be the first one to test something out, "Yeah, sure. How do you wanna do that?"

Her hazel eyes lifted up to the first fire escape, not too high and definitely within reach. She pointed up at it, keeping her eyes on the prize. "Give me a boost, I'll see what happens."

"Maybe-"

"Do it!"

"Fine!" Peter bit back, his eyes widening in exasperation and hands tightening at his side before he gestured haughtily towards his shoulders, "Get on, then."

Frankie didn't need to be told twice. She quickly clamored onto Peter's shoulders- she noted that yes, he'd developed some serious muscle and would never stop giving him shit about it- and threw her hands up to grip onto the metal railing above her. She could feel it adjust to the shape of her hands, the metal feeling softer than usual. She mentally attributed it to her new strength.

"Okay, dude," she said excitedly, "Please get out from between my legs now."

With a few muttered curses, Peter complied. Frankie could feel the absence, keeping her grip tight as her legs swung under her. Bringing her eyes up, the blonde took a few deep breaths to try and steel herself for what she was about to try.

"Okay," she whispered to herself, loosening her grip, "Three… two… one-"

And she fell right to the ground.

With a cry and a thud, she hit the concrete below. A sharp pain radiated through her hip where she landed and the sound of Peter barely muffling a snort making her quickly stand up in spite of the pain.

"No super stick, then?" he questioned haughtily, his soft face turned up in a smirk that was reserved only for her.

"You're kind of a dick, Parker," Frankie pointed out, still feeling like she was on a high, "Did you know that?"

"Only when necessary," he responded with his arms crossed, "And only with you."

"You suck," she grunted, pressing her hand to her bruised hip and pointing towards the side of the building, "You gonna climb or what?"

Peter didn't need any more prompting than that. Frankie watched as he carefully pressed his hands to the wall, pulling himself up just a foot off the ground before he stuck his bare toes to the brick as well. The girl felt her jaw drop open as he ascended, one careful inch at a time. She couldn't stop the laugh of disbelief that fell out of her mouth as he rose ten- fifteen feet up.

"Frankie!" he yelled out, a smile clearly ripping through his face and mop of curls falling over his wide eyes, "Look! I'm- I'm doing it!"

"Fuck yeah you are!" she yelled right back, cupping her mouth with her hand to make sure he heard her.

The two teens whooped in celebration, unsure of what they had discovered but deeply glad that they had at all. It only took Peter a minute to descend, a little more reckless on the way down. He skipped back over to Frankie, his chest heaving and smile wide.

"Dude-" he gasped, pointing up to where he'd climbed, "That's awesome!"

"Don't get too cocky, Parker," she pointed out, barely containing the excited buzz in her voice as she pulled out a notebook from her backpack, "We've still gotta collect the data. What was that? Fifteen feet?"

"Uh, yeah," Peter nodded, watching as Frankie scribbled some notes carefully, "What about you? How's the… y'know."

The candy haired girl looked up to see the boy pointing towards his ear. Quickly getting it, Frankie shrugged and pointed towards her own. "Still hurts like shit. Earplugs don't help. Already put that in the notes."

His lips pressed together awkwardly. "Oh, well… sorry?"

"Whatever," she waved him off, snapping her notebook shut, "Anything else you wanna test out?"

The boy looked down at her, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I forgot how weirdly excited you got about stuff."

"Can the sentimentality," Frankie snapped at him, "Keep with the program."

Peter seemed to think about it pretty hard, his arms folded over his chest and eyes going up towards the sky like they always did when he needed to consider something. Frankie even noticed his jaw tightening as he bit down on his tongue like he did when they were kids. She was about to point it out when the boy's eyes widened, an excited look passing over his face.

"What if we can fly?"

Frankie couldn't stop the snort of disbelief from falling from her lips. "Why the hell would a spider give us the ability to fly?"

"Why would a spider give us any abilities?" he pointed out smugly.

"Fair point," the blonde shrugged, dropping her notebook down on the concrete by her feet, "How exactly do you plan on testing this flight theory?"

That seemed to stump Peter, who looked over at the wall he'd just climbed like it should have the answers. "What if you… jumped really high?"

Frankie rolled her eyes. "I thought you were supposed to be some sort of super genius."

"Well, I'm not exactly studied up on the science of discovering superpowers," Peter griped, sending her an annoyed look that only made the girl smirk.

"Okay, don't shit your pants," she relented, hands going up, "What if we… I don't know, just jump?"

Peter scoffed, hands going down to his hips. "That's literally what I suggested."

"Not off the ground, dipshit," she bit back, pointing up at the top of the building, "I meant from up there."

Realization dawned on Peter, his eyes going wide and jaw going slack. He looked down at Frankie like she was insane- which she might be. His head quickly started to shake, all traces of joking disappearing from his face.

"No."

"Come on-"

"I am not jumping off a building!" he insisted loudly, hands waving around nervously.

"You just climbed a building with your bare hands- and bare feet," Frankie pointed out excitedly, gesturing to his still bare feet, "Besides, what if it's like a fight or flight thing? It won't kick in unless we're about to die or something."

Peter stiffened, glaring at her and pointing towards the building. "If you're so into it, you jump off the building."

Frankie's mouth snapped shut, her head turning. She eyed the building. It was- what? Twenty feet tall? Not too bad. Survivable.

"Fine," she shrugged, stepping around Peter and making her way over.

Any anger was wiped from Peter's face, his eyes widening and immediately falling into step beside her. "Wait, that's not what I meant."

"How else am I supposed to take what you said?" she asked, undeterred.

"Do not jump off the building," he insisted, jumping in front of her with worried eyes, "I'm sorry if I-"

"I'm gonna jump off the building," she insisted, pushing him aside with an incredible amount of strength before she jumped up and grabbed hold of the ladder that connected the fire escapes.

Peter, however, kept trying to stop her. "You don't even think we can fly!"

"You convinced me," she called back to him, climbing up with renewed vigor as she ascended.

"I didn't mean to convince you," he bit back nervously, running over to the brick wall and beginning to climb the way he had before, "Please come down from there."

"There are such things as flying spiders in theory," Frankie pointed out, her hair whipping around her as the wind picked up and she came to a stop on the third story escape, "Just because you're too much of a wuss to try doesn't mean I am. And I'll even compromise. I'm only jumping from halfway up. Totally safe."

"I disagree," Peter tried, voice shaking as he tried to keep up with her.

"Too late," she smirked, stepping up onto the railing in her cheap sneakers, "I'm doing it."

"Don't-"

Peter didn't even have time to finish his warning before Frankie jumped straight off the fire escape.

It felt like flying. There was a moment where she wasn't rising or falling, but seemed to exist between the two. Nothing different, nothing strange. Just a moment before everything went to hell, a perfect moment.

Then- like all things- she had to watch it crash and burn.

A scream ripped through her throat as Frankie fell fast towards the ground. Nothing kept her afloat as she heard Peter yell out her name, barely audible over her own cries. She clawed at the air as if it would suddenly become solid and catch her. The wind rushing through her ears nearly deafened her before-

_CRACK!_

"FUCK!" Frankie cried out, all the wind suddenly gone from her lungs as she felt her side slam into the concrete and blinding white pain rush through her, "Oh fuck- that… that was awesome."

"Frankie!" she could hear Peter scream, the teen suddenly above her and pulling her up to desperately check for injury, "Frankie, holy- holy shit, are- what the f- are you okay?"

"Peachy," she groaned back, feeling her whole body throb and ears ring painfully. She tasted the barest traces of blood between her teeth.

"Are you- is anything broken?" he asked worriedly, running his hands clumsily over the shoulder that had made contact with the ground, "Does it feel broken? I'm not a doctor, I don't- I don't know how to check."

"I'm fine, dipshit," she grumbled, lazily pushing his hand away. She was about to give him shit for worrying so much about her, but the words died in her mouth when she looked down. Apparently, Peter didn't notice, because he kept staring at her and pressing his fingers to her side to make sure there were no broken bones.

"That was…" he gasped, eyes still raking over her body, "The dumbest thing I've ever seen you do."

"On the contrary, Parker," she half whispered, eyes trained on the ground, "I think we just made a discovery."

"What are you-"

Before he could finish, Frankie grabbed onto the back of his head, threading her hands through his hair and turning it towards where he was looking. Immediately, his mouth shut and he just stared at what Frankie had seen. "Oh, shit…"

Beneath where the girl had fallen, long and deep cracks erupted through the dirty and smelly concrete. An entire section the size of her shoulder was crumbled into thick chunks, practically pummeled under her tiny frame. It was physically impossible, but there was no denying what was in front of their eyes.

Frankie's body broke the concrete.

"I mean…" Peter whispered, unable to tear his eyes away, "I always knew you were hard headed."

"Fuck you, Parker."


	8. Frankie On The Upswing!

It is a rule in science and in life that what goes up must eventually fall back down. Frankie Hart, however, was the exception.

It had been a week since she and Peter had begun testing everything, putting their bodies through the ringer and somehow Frankie felt like she was on top of the world. Nothing hurt- not really. Any bruises or cuts were healed within a day, leaving her family no room to notice anything. It was all… amazing.

"Would you please stop making so much noise?"

Frankie whipped her head up, her fading pink hair flying into her eyes as she peered over at her brother. Her taped up fists froze up in the air, a much quicker reaction time than she'd ever had before. The squeak of her punching bag swinging pierced her ears like a bitch, but the heavy pump of extremely loud guitars and heavy bass poured from her earbuds into her ears. It didn't cancel out all the outside noise, she'd discovered, but it provided a decent buffer.

Charlie glared right back at her, backpack slung over his shoulder like he was ready to leave again. She could've sword he'd just gotten home, the sound of his footsteps having broken the thrum of cars honking miles away and her own fists pounding into the vinyl of her punching bag. But time was funny, bleeding together like every minute was an hour.

"Sorry," she chirped back, dropping her fists by her side and tugging her earbuds out, "Just had a good day. No thanks to you, of course."

She carefully glanced down at her fingers, seeing flecks of dried blood under her nails. Her ears hadn't stopped bleeding, though the flow had definitely decreased over the past week. It was like her brain was getting used to the constant thrum of noise.

"Clearly," Charlie grumbled, keeping his eyes on her as she stepped around him towards the kitchen, "You look like death."

The blonde shrugged, not really caring to argue about it. He was right, of course. Between school and all the experiments with Peter, Frankie hadn't bothered to shower or even sleep in the past three days. But she didn't feel heavy or tired. No, it was amazing. Some strange, unlimited burst of energy that kept her going was keeping her moving around and she had no plans of letting it stop.

"Who cares how I look?" she decided to counter, "Besides, you always look like a fucking Neandrathal after practice and I don't say shit."

"You say plenty of shit about it," the brown haired boy shot back, tilting his head to the side, "Did you-"

"Eat today?" she cut him off, hand already jutting out and ripping the fridge open, "Yes, Charlie. I have. So you can shut up about it. Want proof?"

Without waiting for an answer, Frankie pulled out a tupperware full of cold pasta and immediately started shoving a fistful into her mouth. She watched with joy as her brother's face twisted up in disgust as she moaned and chewed dramatically with her mouth open. Bits of chewed up pasta fell from her lips and onto the floor, making her giggle. It didn't matter.

"You're fucking disgusting," Charlie grumbled, looking at her like she was a bomb about to blow, "You hanging with Parker again today?"

"You care?"

"Barely."

Frankie snorted, dropping the container of pasta onto the counter with a loud thunk. "Best brother ever."

"Only one you got, ass face," he grumbled back, making his way towards the door, "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

The blonde rolled her eyes, groaning under her breath. "When have I ever done anything stupid?"

* * *

Frankie was currently doing something very stupid.

"Are you watching?"

Peter smirked as he looked up at Frankie, barely holding onto the bars of the old fire escape and letting her legs dangle in the air. They'd been trying in vain for the past three days to see if she would stick to the walls. Apparently, the pink haired girl refused to believe she couldn't do it.

Peter hadn't been able to shake her or her constant stream of manic energy. He hadn't seen her like this since they were children- bouncing off the walls, practically vibrating with energy. Her eyes were wide and wild, something that brought a very hesitant smile to his face.

"Yes," he yelled back up at her, leaning back on his heels and cradling his throbbing knuckles, "Ready to see you fall on your ass again."

"Fuck off, dipshit!" she shrieked before swinging her legs harshly and throwing herself towards the brick wall beside her.

Peter couldn't stop the scoff that fell out of his lips as he watched Frankie fall to the ground, arms flailing in the air. In his defense, she was only seven feet off the ground and she'd insisted on doing this ten times already, causing his sympathy to wear thin.

She turned her head, pink hair coated in crumbled up concrete from the numerous times she'd hit the ground and glared up at him. "Stop laughing."

"Stop jumping off fire escapes," he shrugged, stepping forward towards her, "Can we please go home now?"

"Why?" Frankie asked breathlessly, her face broken out into a large smile even as she lay on the ground, "We just started."

Peter peered down at her curiously, watching her smile spread manically over her face and pink hair tangle up around her. It was bright, almost blinding the way she completely ignored everything around her in favor of figuring out what had happened to them. "Dude, we've been here for, like, ten hours. School's tomorrow and I've got homework to do."

"But homework's so boring!" she groaned, pushing herself up onto her feet and looking around at the darkening lot, "We could keep testing out what we can break through with our fists. Bare knuckle, like real boxers."

"In case you hadn't noticed," Peter said, spreading his split knuckles out for her to see, "We've already done that. And I really can't believe you talked me into it."

"You were into it," she teased, swinging her arms from side to side to get the rubble off her tattered sleeves, "Besides, isn't all this more important than high school? Seriously, we're- we're freaks of nature! Brand new discoveries and we're the ones who get to figure it all out."

The curly haired boy couldn't stop himself from smiling over at her- she was infectious like this. It was weird, off putting. He shuffled just a few inches away, nothing too obvious but enough to put a little distance between them. "Yeah, it's pretty cool."

"It's fantastic!" the blonde cheered, hopping up on her toes and gripping her wrists hard.

"You almost broke your whole arm," Peter pointed out, unable to keep the barest traces of a smile off his lips, "You really should stop trying to catch yourself."

She fixed him with a look, eyes squinting daringly. "How else am I gonna figure out how much force my new super bones can take?"

Peter chuckled, lips pressed together in a smile. "What if we called it a night? May and Ben are expecting me back in, like, thirty minutes anyway. It's a school night."

Rolling her eyes hard, Frankie crossed her arms and groaned. "Fine. Whatever. You're still a loser."

"That's fine," the boy shrugged, snatching up his backpack before the two fell in step next to each other.

It didn't take long to make it back to the apartment building. Peter spent the whole time cradling his busted knuckles but couldn't wipe the smile from his face. But he did pay attention- not to the girl beside him, but the sounds of the city around him. Far off sirens, a couple yelling at each other in the bodega across the street. Things that made him nervous, things that made him wonder how the girl beside him could stand all the noise. Of course, the thoughts had to be broken by Frankie as she bounced around at his side.

"I planted a mini jelly bomb in your locker."

Peter whipped his head around, brows pulling together. "What?"

"I can't go soft on you," she shrugged him off, tugging her cap over her plugged ears, "People will start to notice, ask questions. Don't think MJ won't notice if I stop bitching at you- which I never had any plans to stop doing."

"Comforting," he drawled back, pushing back his hair from his brows, "So MJ's your friend?"

The boy watched as Frankie tilted her head to the side slightly like she had to think about it. "I mean… kinda. Maybe. We can stand each other, we're each other's partners in most projects. And we don't really have a lot of other options, so… yeah. Friend adjacent."

"You don't have friends?"

Frankie glared up at him- he really enjoyed the fact that he was taller now- and her lips curled back into a sneer. "Why would I want to associate with the morons in our school?"

"Because friends are nice," Peter bit back.

She waved him off, turning her eyes back in front of her. "Whatever. Too much hassle."

"That explains a lot about-"

_BANG!_

Before Peter could even react, Frankie had already grabbed hold of him and thrown him against a wall as if to pull him out of the way. He quickly reached out and grabbed her as well, trying to grab her attention.

"Get out of the-"

"Frankie- Frankie!" he insisted, grabbing hold of her shoulders, "That wasn't close to us."

"But-" she stammered, hands going up to her ears, "I thought…"

Peter pointed down the street, keeping hold of her gaze. "It was several streets down. Not close at all."

"But it- it sounded…" she drifted off, her eyes falling down as if she was listening closely to something.

"What is it?" the boy asked, suddenly growing nervous, "Did- did someone get hurt? Do we need to help or- or do something?"

"No one's hurt."

"What?"

"She got away," Frankie clarified, rubbing at her temples and looking down the street, "The lady who got shot at. She ran into a- a bodega or something. The mugger's running off."

Peter followed her gaze, trying in vain to see if anyone was running in their direction. What could he have done? That thought dug its way into the boys head, seeping its way into his thoughts. He could have done… something. He had the ability to do something and so did the girl next to him. But-

"We should head back," Frankie's voice cut off his thoughts, her hand tugging on his sleeve to pull him down the last block before they got back to their building.

The ride up to Frankie's floor was quiet, Peter's thoughts still on that street corner. What could he have done? Should he have done something? But when he looked over to Frankie to ask her, she didn't seem to be thinking about it at all. Instead, her eyes were bouncing around, fingers tapping against her hip like she had no outlet for her energy.

"Should we have…" Peter tried, pulling her attention for a second, "Should we have gone after that guy?"

"And gotten ourselves shot?" the candy haired girl scoffed, swiping a stray hair up into her cap, "No. The woman was safe anyway. Not much to do."

"But he might do it again," he insisted, "Don't you care about that?"

Her green eyes moved over to him, her fingers still tapping a constant, erratic beat on her hip. "What are you suggesting, Parker? I'm a heartless bitch?"

"No-"

"You wouldn't be the first."

"I'm just-" he tried again as the doors slid open on Frankie's floor and he stepped out with her, "We have this- this thing. And we can use it to help people-"

"Parker," she cut him off, coming to a stop in front of her door and looking back up at him, "I'm not playing out your Avenger's fantasy, okay? We don't even know what this thing is, so let's not go getting ourselves shot trying to be knockoff Captain America and Black Widow. Sound good?"

Peter's lips pressed together tight, his eyes going down in annoyance. He didn't understand her complete indifference, why she didn't want to do something good with what had happened to them. As his thoughts bubbled up, he noticed a piece of paper sticking out of her backpack as she fished around for her keys. He noticed and extensive amount of notes surrounding what looked like an interesting blueprint.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing towards the paper.

She followed his finger to see what he was pointing at, shrugging. "Plans for this- it's stupid anyway."

"I'll tell you if it's stupid," Peter responded, still intersted.

She looked back at him, totally not believing him. But, surprisingly, she opened up her mouth to explain. "It's a schematic for a cauterization device. I thought- I don't know, I could rework it so it could help me stick to the walls since it already molded to the human hand."

She looked up at him like she was ready to be laughed at, but Peter wasn't laughing. No, instead he looked rather impressed. "That's… really freakin' cool."

Her brows pulled together, completely confused. "Really?"

"Yeah!" he said with a small smile on his face, "That's smart. At least, until the whole sticky thing kicks in, might as well figure out how to keep up with me."

"You're a dick."

"At least I can climb walls."

Just as she was about to respond, the door to Frankie's apartment swung open to reveal a tired looking Charlie glaring out at them from the other side. Peter hadn't actually spoken to Frankie's older brother since he was in middle school when he'd pushed the smaller boy up against the wall in the hallway when he thought it'd be funny to pour his Capri Sun all over Peter's head. The Hart siblings had at least one thing in common- they enjoyed making Peter miserable.

"The fuck are you two yapping about out here?" he groaned, rubbing at his wild hair and glaring down at his sister.

"Project," she quipped back, a slow smile spreading over her face as she shoved her backpack higher up on her shoulder, "Brainstorming ran long."

"You missed dinner," the taller boy pointed out, not taking his glare off of his sister.

She snorted. "If you're the one who cooked it, I'm relieved."

"Yeah…" Charlie muttered, eyeing his sister warily, "Sure. Whatever."

Peter watched as the blonde skipped past her brother, totally indifferent to his sour look. He couldn't stop the small, soft laugh that spilled from his lips. It was amusing at the very least. No one could say the Hart siblings weren't entertaining up close. But when Charlie turned his harsh look to Peter, the laugh died on his lips and he gulped nervously. It didn't matter if he had super strength, Charlie Hart was still the most intimidating boy he knew. And he knew it, too. Seeing Peter pale made him smirk down at him.

"Don't get used to it," he chuckled with very little humor, nodding his head in the direction Frankie had gone, "She's on an upswing."

The smaller boy felt his brows pull together. "Excuse me?"

Charlie leaned down, drawing out his words like he was explaining it to a very dull child. "She's all bright and shiny right now. But she'll be back to her pissy self in a few days. It's what she does."

Peter didn't know why he felt a twist in his chest, but he didn't like the way Charlie talked about Frankie. He'd never liked the boy anyway, and he'd definitely never like the way he saw him talk to his sister. "Maybe you don't know her that well."

"Parker," he scoffed, a brief look of offence flashing across his face, "I know her better than anyone. Now go back home and- I don't know, bake cookies or whatever boring ass sitcom shit you do at home."

"Shut up, Charlie," he said without thinking, glaring up at the brunette.

The taller boy straightened up, sharp features suddenly much more intimidating. "What did you just say?"

"N-nothing," Peter squeaked, feeling his cheeks heat up with embarrassment over the way he'd stammered out the word.

He expected Charlie to punch him, or at least insult him further. But something else happened- he just shook his head. He looked tired as he pointed towards the elevator. "Go home, Parker."

Peter didn't need to be told twice, spinning on his heel and scrambling towards the stairs instead. He heard the door slam behind him as he ran into the stairwell and down towards his floor. But after only two flights, he slowed down. Looking back up towards Frankie's floor, he felt something tugging at his brain again. The image of the blonde's blueprint was intriguing. Carefully checking for any security cameras, he slid his own backpack off and pulled out a notebook and pen, head already flooding with ideas of what he could make to improve his control. To help people.

* * *

Frankie listened as her brother slammed the door on Peter, not particularly concerned with it. It was Charlie after all, no one would actually tell him to fuck off. He'd do what he wanted and everyone else would just deal with it. Instead, she made her way into her own room and threw her backpack down on her bed. Cordelia padded over and wrapped herself around her ankles softly. Carefully, she pulled out the sticky and sickly red earplugs from her ears, not bothering to look at them as she threw them in her trashcan.

Without much warning, she heard her door squeak open, making her turn around and see her brother glaring at her from the other side.

"How long on this one, huh?" he asked condescendingly.

Frankie glared right back, her lips pressed into a tight frown. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"How long are you gonna be on the upswing this time?" he clarified harshly, "Because it would be nice to have some warning."

"Is it a crime not to be miserable?" she asked, squaring her shoulders and tightening her jaw.

Charlie opened his mouth like he was going to answer, but nothing came out. His face fell slightly, softening up in a way Frankie was sure he never let anyone see. At least not voluntarily.

"Just..." he sighed, grabbing onto the door handle again and stepping back as if he was about to leave, "Give me some warning or something, okay?"

"About me being out so late?" she questioned, genuinely becoming confused.

Her brother shook his head, his lips pulling down into a hard frown. "Whatever, Frankie."

With that, he shut the door and stomped his way over to his own room. The sounds rattled around the otherwise empty apartment, leaving very little sound in its wake. The silence of her own room suddenly felt... heavy. Not so harsh, but deep. The girl looked around, the lights of the city bleeding in through her window and cutting through the shadows inside. Slowly, she untangled her ankles from her cat and walked over to her window and just... listened.

People yelled, cried, screamed. It was chaos, like no one cared enough to stop anything. And no one did. Cops were basically useless around this neighborhood. And it's not like the spandexed freaks uptown were going to come down to stop someone from mugging one woman- even if there was a gun on her. Frankie's mind flashed back to the bang that rang through her ears, the scream that had pierced her eardrums earlier. No one could help that woman- not even her. She was useless. Pointless.

That thought sunk deep into her mind, weighing the young girl down. She felt it tug her down, barely enough energy to keep her standing. So she gave in, sinking down onto her back on the cold floor beneath her. She stared up, watching the harsh yellow begin to mix with the red and blue flashing lights of a cop car below mix with the shadows on her walls.

She didn't know why all this anger was coming back up- like bile, like sickness. But as suddenly as it had disappeared from her mind it had come back.

Fuck Charlie. Fuck him and his stupid martyr complex.

It is a rule that what goes up must eventually fall back down. And Frankie Hart was no exception.


End file.
